


His Hawk, Caged

by Apiaceae



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Kidnapping, Post Promised Day, kidnapped riza hawkeye
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26200303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apiaceae/pseuds/Apiaceae
Summary: Faced with the reality that Captain Riza Hawkeye has been captured by the enemy while on a remote mission to protect him, General Roy Mustang must find the way to save her, even if it takes bringing his country to the brink of war. [Rating is for violence, depictions of violence, and language]
Relationships: Hawkeye/Mustang, Riza/Roy, RoyAi
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	1. Captive

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I began posting this story on Fanfiction.net, but have since decided to move it here. I've completed two chapters, and will be uploading them both immediately, and the third chapter should be out shortly! It's been quite some time since I was regularly writing, so please feel free to leave any feedback!

Colonel Roy Mustang cheerfully held the phone to his ear, his feet propped hazardously upon the desk in front of him, and he spun the cord around his fingers enthusiastically as he cooed and praised the voice on the other end flirtatiously. His free hand tightly gripped a fresh pen, Lieutenant Hawkeye had quite recently replaced the black ink cartridge within it, knowing it was his favorite without having to prompt him. He tapped it a couple times on a pad of paper to get the ink flowing, and began scribbling out notes in a handwriting that few people could read when he wasn’t making an effort to be neat, now not being one of those occasions, though the illegible scribbles were something that was aiding him at the moment rather than hurting. 

“Is that right, Elizabeth, you’re that busy that you can’t even spare a few hours to meet me for dinner?” The General falsely pouted, aware that those in his direct command line would be aware of the coded conversation after having experienced it so often in their workplace, but still choosing to engage in it in the chance someone else may stumble in and hear something they simply were not supposed to be hearing.

“I’m afraid I have too many customers to deal with this evening, I’m sorry.” The feminine voice hummed in response, filling his chest with a sense of comfort and safety despite their distance. “This afternoon I’m due to meet a few customers down the block, then tomorrow evening I should be ready to head off to check in at a different location.”

“I see, a lot of customers left to handle?” He jotted some notes absentmindedly, though he was well aware he would remember the entirety of their conversation well, committing her words to memory without having to put intention into it, it was simply how they worked.

“Not too many, two left tonight that look like they’re still close enough to wander in, and six expected tomorrow.” Her voice was guarded and the volume had softened a bit. “Perhaps I’ll call you back tonight, huh? I think a customer is arriving now actually.” she readied her sight, and gazed through it at the short statured man entering her wide view, perhaps five hundred feet from the foot of the building that she was propped high up in the top floor of, glad that she was fortunate enough to find a good angle from a window   
and balcony as options rather than having to brave the northern winter from the roof.

“I see, well you stay safe Elizabeth!” The General heartily laughed, though the two knew that the statement had not been simply a joke, it was an order from her commanding officer, whatever you do, don’t die. “Perhaps you’ll be ready to meet me for breakfast the day following tomorrow?”

Understanding his order and his request, Riza was happy to comply, and ever so ready to return back to Central where she could keep her focus entirely on protecting the General, though realizing that her remote work was important, she would far rather be positive of his safety. “I think so, I’m thinking we can pack up shop here tomorrow night and be back on a train heading home before nightfall.”

“Call me tonight so I know you got home safe after your shift at the store?” General Mustang asked, though the request was again, a silent order that he must be informed of her safety. He valued her intellect and skill, though he never felt quite as safe as when she was beside him, watching his back and providing him all of the confidence he required to muster forward all of the strength and skill required to move towards becoming the someday Fuhrer of Amestris.

“Of course, I’d never miss out on checking on you either, I’ll call you tonight, I have to handle this customer.” She replied curtly, hanging up the line by pressing a button on her earpiece. She readied herself, waiting for the perfect shot, and upon framing her view and aiming her gun precisely, a bullet shot silently through the air, meeting its aim perfectly centered through the heart of the enemy approaching. His nearby comrade quickly approached his fallen form, spinning about as he attempted to find the source of the death sentence, but found nothing. He picked up a radio, and as he began to shout a code into the comm, Riza swiftly dispatched him as well, years of training and unfortunate experience guiding her perfectly sound shot. This mission was to be a simple one spanning three days, she was sent with a small crew from East City as her companions, and they were stationed at a small town just south of Fort Briggs. A small group of Drachman spies were thought to be in the area, and they had malicious plans for the General. General Armstrong from Briggs had been determined to send her own soldiers, but Mustang had insisted upon sending a crew of his selection, as he didn’t want to raise any suspicion as the men of Briggs departed the stony walls of their asylum from the cold, and the nation’s best defense towards attack. So he had sent her, the Hawk’s Eyes, his greatest soldier and confidant. He trusted nobody to carry this mission out as much as he trusted her. He grinned, stowing away his scribbled notes in a manilla folder labelled simply “Northern Mission” alongside the official mission documents and allowances, and placed it neatly at the front of his filing cabinet, alongside all of the meticulously organized files that had gathered there throughout his time working in Central. He turned to his desk once more, where a stack nearly six inches high of paperwork sat incomplete, and he sorely missed the company of his adjunct who made the paperwork go so much quicker when she was by his side. He painstakingly pulled the first file from the top of the stack, and buried his nose in it, working through lunch instead of eating, and through the end of the day. By the time the stack was nearly complete, aside from a few documents that needed resent, or sent elsewhere for further permissions or signatures, his eyes were darkened and tired, and he stretched his hands over his head, swivelling his chair around to gaze out the window. Central City was met with the last of the golden light from the sun setting upon her, the very last sliver of orange orb slipping below the horizon, and the streets were beginning to quiet down for the evening. Roy stood, gazing out the window, wondering what the sunset might look like that evening over the snow covered terrain of the north. He had never been one for sentimentality, but he supposed also that he had never spent the time to consider the way the sun looked on different terrain than that he was used to.  
The hourly chime of the clock brought him from his wandering thoughts, and counting the chimes, he furrowed his brows, as surely the clock had been wrong when he counted nine. Upon viewing the clock, his confusion was confirmed, and a deep seeded worry began to fill his being. Why had Captain Hawkeye not called to check in and confirm her safety yet? What could possibly be going on? Had an unexpected blizzard rendered their phones and radios useless, so she had been unable to contact him? She would have typically called him hours ago for a covert end of day summary and confirmation of her and her team’s safety, she had the night before at just before seven in the evening, so why had she not yet called? Surely, his imagination was getting the best of him, he reasoned, sitting back in his chair with a grunt. She had never forgotten before, so it was unlikely she had forgotten, though he reasoned there must be an outside cause behind the lack of communication from the succinct and well-planned woman. The northern winters were unpredictable, so surely she was dealing with weather factors at the very least, if not caring for her team and checking in with their commander from East City. So he sat, and he waited, not wanting to call her and interrupt anything transpiring.

Not realizing how tired he had been or how much time had passed, when the office filled with the surreal sound of the phone’s chimes, he found his face pressed to the wood of his desk, and his hair and uniform in disarray. Swiftly answering the phone before the third ring, he cheerfully played up his role, and greeted the other end with a “Hey babe, I was starting to worry about ya!” Silence met his ears, followed by a muffled noise that sounded far too abnormal for a standard call, and he was suddenly as awake as he had ever been. The dimly lit office allowed him to see that the hour hand of the clock appeared to be at eleven, but perhaps it was ten, it was hard to tell. “Elizabeth?” He asked, a bit louder.

“Hey Roy.” An unfamiliar voice met his ears, in all of its sarcastic ability. “Nice to hear from ya, who’s Elizabeth?”

“Who is this?” He demanded, tearing the cap from his pen off, sending it rolling away under his feet. His heart was racing and his tongue was unable to come up with the words to approach the scenario with, desperately hoping it was someone on Hawkeye’s team pranking him.

“Cut the shit, General, you know full and well who this is.” The masculine voice snickered. 

“How did you get this phone number, it is a military line.” Roy demanded, his nails digging into the desk.

“Oh, I just had your lovely little subordinate dial, she’s sitting right here, Roy. I hear she’s a Captain now, yeah?” Mustang could hear the smirk through his statement, and his body was sending off panic signals. “Wanna talk to her?”

“What is going on?” He demanded again, rudely shouting into the phone. “If this is a prank I will have your rank and your dishonorable discharge paperwork will be in before you can even think about apologizing!” Roy silently prayed to a God that he wasn’t sure existed, or if he believed in, that he was simply at the end of some terrible, awful, prank meant to ruin him.

“Okay, I’ll put her on if you don’t believe me, but don’t even bother messing around with your coded talk, because I know that this is Captain Riza Hawkeye, and not Elizabeth like you immediately addressed her. You talk to her then we can sort out this plan.” The voice chuckled, and Roy was rapidly writing down his every word, desperately hoping a clue lay within his words, terrified that he was not amid an awful nightmare, and that this situation was not true, that his precious subordinate officer, his precious Lieutenant was not in enemy hands.

“Hello, General.” Her firm and stoic voice met his ears, a wave of joy and relief flowing through him as he heard her, combined with immediate fear as he recognized that the earlier threat was not empty.

“Captain, what’s going on, are you injured?” He rattled off quickly, hearing a choked cough silented and muffled on the opposing end.

“It doesn’t matter, Sir, are you safe?” She asked rapidly, as though her time on the phone was limited and she had to speak quickly to have the entire conversation before that time ran out. “Why are you at headquarters so late? No matter, don’t leave, call in Grumman and don’t you dare leave, keep yourself safe.”

“Hawkeye slow down, I’m safe, what’s going on?” Roy asked, and the sound of a struggle followed his request. “What’s going on?” He repeated louder, the panic showing through his voice despite his intending it to not be evident.

“Well, here’s the ultimatum, Sir, you know we have your Captain and that she’s alive for now, but she won’t be for long. We’re wiring you an address, if you come alone, we’ll send her off on her cheerful way, if not, we kill her. If you so much as dare to bring a battalion, or another officer, or even another damned state alchemist with you, she’s getting a bullet to her head.” Behind the masculine voice, he heard two solid taps ring out, immediately catching his attention and the insults and threats of the men were silent to him, hearing her unspoken clue. 

“General!” Hawkeye's voice pierced through the air as she shouted, desperate for him to hear her, though her voice was interjected by the sound of what he could only interpret as his subordinate being punched. Her voice wasn’t laced by the fear that a typical hostage would hold, rather laced with concern and stern orders, despite the opposing line being her superior officer. He listened carefully, knowing that she was too strong to be cut down this easily by an enemy, and that surely the forces holding her were significantly stronger than her and her team had expected. Surely they weren’t watching her back in the way that she was watching theirs, the thought caused the blood in his veins to boil. 

“General, forget saving me, please..” She paused just long enough for the man to know she was giving him their coded message, a way they had long learned to speak to one another. “Lucy will be alright, she’s at Olivier’s still, my Venus flytrap and Earthstar plants won’t need watered frequently. Take care of things while I’m gone, alright?” She taps twice again, in what her captors likely understood as frustration as she hid the sentiment of her words with well faked frustration, but she had faith in her acting.

His pen hit the paper quicker than he had ever moved in his life, scribbling her statements down, using the cluewords she had carefully chosen to not raise suspicion, but he knew immediately her code. Lucy, L, Olivier, O, Venus, V, Earthstar, E….. Love. She was saying goodbye. Tears threatened to spill over his eyelashes as he held back all of the anger set deep into his chest.

“I… I’ll come.” His graven voice erupted from his throat before he thought twice about what it meant for him. Immediately after the words left his lips, he heard a frustrated cry from Hawkeye. His chest panged with guilt for worrying her, but he knew that he would have to retrieve her, no matter the danger. He would contact Grumman, he would call in his team, and they would figure this out, he had to figure this out and find her, and she would never allow him to walk into a trap like that. But if it meant burning whatever godforsaken building they were holding her in down around them to get her out, he would do it. He would do anything for her. A sound of satisfaction, and the phone clicked. Hawkeye’s piercing shout rang loudly in his ears long after the phone was simply hung up, the hum of a dead line filling the office. The shout had been requesting, no, demanding that he remain in the safety of Central command. With a sense of panic he had never before felt, he swiftly dialed the memorized phone number of Jean Havok, telling him as quickly as he could to arrive at command, that Hawkeye was in danger. Following the call by ringing the remainder of his team, he finally called Grumman. His voice was full of surprise and fear, then an overwhelming sense of calm that Mustang was unsure how he was able to summon. He supposed it was after years of learning to focus on keeping the emotion away from work, though he figured this time it would not be easy. Not for him, or any of his team. He stated that he would arrive on site soon, and that he was not to initiate any contact or create any plans without him present. Upon finishing his necessary calls, he found himself quickly pacing the floor of the office in a way he was sure would leave lines and scuffs in patterns not dissimilar to that of a caged tiger walking the perimeter of his housing. Never had he felt this powerless, this frustrated, this… lost. He was caged in his own office, with nowhere to go and no way to help the cause he so desperately wanted to solve, left only to pacing and frustration and fear seeping into his mind. In his head he pleads with some higher force, whether it be God, or Truth, or anything else, sending his desperation elsewhere. He knew better though, Truth did not take requests or respond to desperate pleas and he knew so much, Truth only exchanged, but he had given nothing and they had taken his everything, and Hawkeye was in trouble, and dammit, that was not equivalent exchange.

He ran his hands forcefully through his hair as he thought, eventually finding himself collapsing into the chair at his desk. Suddenly, he wished that he had never sent her on a mission without him, though he knew she was capable of caring for herself, clearly her team was incapable of protecting her. He should have gone with her, if she needed to go. He regretted making her his assistant, for damning her to standing by his side in the military and allowing her to get into situations such as this, despite knowing she had chosen this life. He regretted meeting her again in Ishval, wishing she had never had to go to such a terrible place to commit such terrible sins by his side, sins they had promised each other that they would atone to together as they moved forward, and as she promised to stay beside him as he worked towards becoming the Fuhrer of the nation. He wished with his entire being that he had never heard of her father, that he had never chosen to ask him to be his teacher and to be an apprentice under him. He regretted his time spent there, taking the last scraps of a parent that she had away from her, even though her father had been cruel and terrible to her, perhaps he wouldn’t have been had Roy not gone there. Perhaps if he had never met her, she might be living her life as a farmer, or a seamstress, a wife, mother, anything she put her mind to she could have achieved had he not tainted her life with himself. Perhaps she would be a real grocer, and not a code grocer living by a pretend name while she carried out missions to keep him safe. All that she did, she pledged to keep him safe, but he didn’t keep her safe, not this time. She had stopped him from killing Envy, had told him that if she were to shoot him, she would follow it by killing herself as well, as she would not go on without him. She had stood by his side through every terribly gruesome battle he had ever fought, she had valiantly protected him and everything he loved, and had held his hopes and dreams and goals to her heart as her own. She had promised to follow him into Hell, if he so asked, and she had completed missions that were as close as one could get to Hell on Earth, yet she had stayed, committed, beside him. He had watched her demand he not commit the unforgivable sin of human transmutation as she bled out on the floor, her life had been fading but she had made him promise to leave her, to move on, but he knew then and he knew now that he could not do that. Never in his life had he felt so alive and grateful as the moment Mei had stopped her bleeding and he held her to his chest. She stood beside him as he was promoted to Brigadier General, and he had stood by hers as she had become a Captain, despite her rank, remaining as his adjunct at his side. She had dedicated her own life to his, her own career to advancing his own, and expected nothing in return. She had told him without a word that she was proud of him, that she expected great things from him, that she loved him. God, the girl he met as a child in a broken home, who had been vulnerable in teaching him her darkest secret, and had placed her trust in him to destroy it; she had given him her whole being, and expected nothing.

In all of her stoic, powerful, sharp-eyed, wonderful glory, in every sense of compassion and wonder and beauty and pure and unadulterated essence of Riza Hawkeye, she had been beside him. And he had not been beside her for this, and she had been captured. Years upon years of silent commands and conversations through eye contact, and even through the message a silent phone line sent, he had never trusted any other person as he had trusted her. She was his first and closest friend, and he was helplessly committed to her, whether the military disallowed it or not, and he was aware of her reciprocation. They didn’t need to hear the ‘I love you’’s, or need the frivolous terminology that traditional couples shared, they had something much deeper, a connection that few humans ever felt or experienced, and they were irreplaceable to each other. They were inseparable, connected, and hopelessly, selflessly, in love. That is why hearing it from her on the line moments ago had him so rattled, surely, having not needed to hear those words to know of their dedication, why did she feel he needed to hear it now? He knew that the statement had been for him, and not for her, so why did she feel that he needed it?  
His hands folded ahead of him, and his face slowly followed it, burying his features within his hands as if the world would disappear around him if he did so, and she would be in front of him, stone faced, reminding him to staple his paperwork so she wouldn’t have to sort through it the following day to reorganize documents into their appropriate files, in his desk, that she had clearly handled tending to. He felt useless, but he knew he couldn’t fold, he wouldn’t hesitate to protect her. She would not have done so to protect him, and he sure as hell was not going to allow them to take her away from him, as she surely wouldn’t have ever gotten into this situation unless something truly terrible was occurring for it to happen. 

As his dear friends filed into the office, meeting the grave face of their superior, they were aware that they were signing up for what could easily become a war if Mustang had his way. His dearest Riza Hawkeye was their friend and confidant and fellow soldier, and they respected her and loved her dearly, it went unspoken that their small crew was close and valued one another deeply. The looks on their faces were filled with disgust and fear and anger, and he knew that they would not hesitate in following through with his plans, whatever they may be, if it meant that they could have her back. Captain Riza Hawkeye had never let them down, and they sure as hell were not going to let her die for their safety if they had the power to save her. And if they did not have that power, they would surely be creating it.


	2. Drowning

“General, are you alright?” Havok gently inquired, watching as Mustang’s face rose from his hands, full of what they were only able to classify as unmatched fury. 

“No, I’m not alright,” he gruffly responded, pulling his gloves tighter around his balled fists “they have my Captain.” he rolled a white marble of a chess piece between his fingers. 

“Excuse me sir, but who is ‘they’?” Breda asked, taking a seat at the chair he had pulled up to the General’s desk, setting a cup of coffee on it that he pushed towards his superior.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” Mustang rippled with anger, but he did take the cup with a thankful nod, taking a sip of the caffeinated liquid for no reason other than to give him additional precious hours with unfogged vision from the lack of sleep he was sure to experience. Hopefully for the night, but he was willing to continue the fight up until the moment he could ensure the safety of his adjunct. “As you all know, she was assigned a group of East City soldiers and they were investigating a potential attack on myself and the country, either by Drachman spies, or someone who is posing as such. She was posted about ten miles south of Briggs, in a small town.”

“Sir, she was undercover, right?” Havok asked, furrowing his brow in consideration of how their greatest marksman and the best shot in the entire military could have possibly gone missing from her lofted vantage point.

“Yes.” Roy pinched the bridge of his nose firmly between his fingers, leaning all the way back in his chair. “I don’t understand how they overtook her either.” He supplied, answering the question before he had even asked. “I spoke to her this morning and she said that she had two people to handle tonight that were in sight, and six tomorrow, and she agreed to call again this evening to let me know what the status of her team and her situation were, but I didn’t hear from her until after ten when she called near seven last night. The person who answered the phone was a male. He threatened me a bit, then when I said he was pranking me, he… He put Hawkeye on the phone.”

“Did she sound okay?” Feury asked softly, exercising caution in his questioning in fear of causing any more stress or fear to his superior. 

“She’s Hawkeye.” Roy responded simply, as if that were an appropriate answer to the question, though his team knew what he had meant. She was smart, quick witted, and incredibly skilled in hiding her emotions or injury. Hell, in Ishval he had never seen as much as a scrape or gasp from the woman up until she had to bury an Ishvalan child, she hid it so well. Her voice over a phone call would be very calm and collected, no matter what was going on with her physically, which only drove him more mad. He knew that she was a trained soldier, she was well versed in how to handle being a hostage, and Roy knew better than to even consider that she may take her personal condition into account and give away any details that would risk his own safety or the safety of his team or the nation of Amestris. “The man told me he would be wiring us an address and that I’m to go alone, and they’ll let us have her back, but only if I’m alone without accompaniment. If not, they said they’ll kill her.”

“You can’t do that, Sir.” Havok says firmly. “You’d be walking right into a trap, and you know that. I can see you considering it.”

“We do need to get her back though… How do we do that without killing her or ourselves in the process? We can’t put her or you in danger, General.” Breda replies, his voice softer than the group had ever heard him speak.

“I know that if I walk into that, I’ll surely die, but dammit I’m going to get her back, okay? This is my fault for sending her there, and it’s my fault that my subordinate is in such awful danger, and I won’t be idly standing by letting her die, like hell will I let her die.” Mustang stood abruptly. “She screamed.” His voice was hoarse, letting the detail slip like a confession, his voice suddenly soft and filled with sadness.

“She… what?” Fuery asked for clarification, not understanding. He, among the others crowded around the mahogany desk, had never heard her raise her voice in a way that was not scolding the General or his team for not completing their paperwork, or some other work relevant task.

“When they said that if I come, they’ll let her live, she told me that I can’t do that; but it’s the only thing I want to do. I have no need to follow the orders of a soldier below me, but I’ve always followed hers. She’d follow me into hell if I asked her, she’s told me that herself, and she would never allow me to do anything to put me in the path of danger, so she must truly be in a situation that’s not safe. Otherwise she’d be on a train back to Central as we speak, safe and ready to be home and with Hayate.”

“Oh yeah, speaking of, I dropped Hayate off at Catalina’s, Sir.” Havok replied, speaking of the Lieutenant’s well trained dog. He had been watching him while Hawkeye was away, as he usually did since they got along so well. “I figured I would do that before I came, so that I’m ready to deploy on a mission with immediate warning.” Roy nodded in approval of the choice, appreciation for his, and his fellow soldiers’ resolve and willingness to arrive at work so late in the night to aid him in finding and rescuing his adjunct and their well respected and loved coworker and fellow soldier. It really was true, Mustang considered, his team truly was close, and he was more grateful for that at this very moment than he ever had been before. He feared that if he was facing this alone, he would have either crumpled into ashes, or stormed into the facility she was being held at and would have killed them both by now. Though at the moment he was completely willing to go down with that ship if it meant he could provide even minimal comfort or safety for his Captain. He silently sent his gratitude to his men, unwilling to voice it in fear his stone exterior cracked in the moment to let how frightened he was slip. As his mouth parted slightly to suggest the men go get themselves some coffee, Fuhrer Grumman entered the room followed closely behind by his assistant. He was lazily dressed, his uniform hanging awkwardly as if he had left his home in an incredible hurry, only buttoned in the necessary places to keep it on and together and the ropes hanging strangely as if he had not taken any time to fasten them. His eyes were dull and sad, after all, Riza was the Fuhrer’s granddaughter. 

“They have Captain Hawkeye?” He asked hurriedly, straightening his uniform in the presence of her team until it was properly adjusted. 

“Yeah.” Roy responded, as defeated as anyone could imagine the Flame Alchemist, Restorer of Ishval speaking. 

“Fill me in on the details, General.” Grumman spoke roughly, his hard exterior hiding all signs of discomfort or worry. He sat beside the General when Falman arrived, bringing extra chairs and coffee in tow for the whole lot gathered in the building at the late hour.

“Captain Riza Hawkeye was involved in a progressing mission up North, investigating potential Drachman spies who have made threats against myself and Amestris. She was accompanied by a small team from East City headquarters, to avoid Drachman suspicion by sending troops from Fort Briggs. Captain Hawkeye was in regular correspondence with myself, and her team was making regular correspondence with East City headquarters, as well as sending all necessary status reports to Briggs. Yesterday I received the evening check-in at seven PM, and today I received several check-in calls throughout the day, but I did not receive an evening report. I did not receive any calls or reports from Briggs or Eastern command stating that the group was in any trouble or in active combat, so I assumed that they were experiencing inclement weather and I awaited their call. My phone rang shortly after ten o’clock, and I spoke to a male who had Captain Hawkeye in his custody.” Roy informed the man formally. “He made several seemingly empty threats before putting her on the phone, and requested that I visit a location he said he would be wiring to Central command, and if I do so, he would release the Captain. I called you and my team in immediately after ending the phone conversation.”

“Well, this is quite a predicament.” The Fuhrer responded after a moment of silence, deep in thought. “For starters, you’re barred from entering the field until a plan is addressed, and you will not be giving yourself in exchange for Hawkeye, that is not a tactic that is safe nor one that has ever worked successfully in the past.” He tapped a pen firmly against the desk despite not having a pad of paper or document in front of him that required ink. “If we haven’t received the address we have no way to scope the situation out, and no way to do further investigation. My official orders for you and your team is to return tomorrow morning to carry out an investigation and to plan reconnaissance to retrieve the Captain with ideally no casualties involved.”

“But Sir-” Roy began, shocked at the lack of care the man held for his own granddaughter. “Respectfully, can we not begin researching the group further by any other means to get a head start? They have a captive, after all.” Though he had used such a simple and general term for the woman, everyone in the room was aware that she wasn’t simply any captive, she was Roy’s adjunct, his right hand man, an old war buddy, and his oldest friend. She was a soldier and a coworker, a close friend, a granddaughter. She wasn’t simply someone held during a robbery as leverage, or a civilian taken in times of war, Riza Hawkeye was a trained soldier on a mission, and it would have taken quite some force to take her out, making the entire experience all the more frightening and traumatizing.

“Those are your orders.” Grumman spoke again, rising. “I expect each of you to report back here at five o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. We will begin arrangements and I will assign roles for the mission going forward. We cannot do anything without the rest you will require tonight, so sleeping is an order. I realize it is growing late, and I thank the General for calling us all and having us arrive in a timely manner.” 

“Yes Sir.” All of the voices in the room saluted firmly in response, their heels snapped together as they all stood in the practiced pose for the proper response to their superior and the leader of their country. He ordered them at ease, exiting the room with his assistant trailing behind him once more. His orders lingered in the air, and the team stirred awkwardly, not desiring the option of doing absolutely nothing until morning. The clock read eleven, though it felt much later as the windows filtered in pale moonlight. Roy collapsed back into his chair, the salute slowly falling to his side. Both of his hands ran frustratedly through his black locks, and his team knew that he was devising a plan. A plan they were more than willing to ignore higher orders if following them meant saving their friend and fellow soldier more quickly. The group sat quietly and as patiently as they were capable of as they waited for him to speak. After a few minutes of silence filled only by the sound of the heaters in the room kicking on to warm them, Mustang sat upright, seemingly hardening himself intentionally to match the manner in which he would handle any other case, trying his best to push emotions aside.

“Your order is to follow the Fuhrer’s wishes.” He said finally.

“You can’t be kidding, Sir!” Fuery abruptly exclaimed. “We want to help you find Hawkeye, and soon!”

“Sir, is there absolutely nothing we can do to be of assistance this evening before plans are made tomorrow?” Falman asked more formally.

“We all know you’re going to be staying here all night, Mustang.” Havok chewed the end of his unlit cigarette. “We’re right here beside you, even if it means ignoring orders from the higher ups, and you know that.”

“I know you would, and I appreciate it.” Mustang responded. “I’ll be going home as well. As much as I hate it, Fuhrer Grumman is correct. We cannot go barging in on a mission tomorrow having had no rest tonight. We need our strength, and it would be ruinous if we ignored that just to arrive earlier completely tired and useless. Captain Hawkeye is strong and well educated on how to handle being in a hostage situation. She won’t do anything dumb.” Roy stood, wrapping his outer coat around his form. He couldn’t help but wonder how cold she was, captured, in the dead of the dead of winter up North. His team slowly began dressing in their winter wear as well, following and draining out into the hallway as Mustang locked his door, wiggling the handle afterwards to ensure it was closed.

“See you in the morning, Sir.” Breda says, placing a firm hand on Mustang’s shoulder briefly, before disappearing down the hallway to head home. Falman offered him a ride, but Roy decided he would rather walk home, as he had walked to the office that morning to get some exercise and frankly he was in need of some cold air and time to think to get his thoughts in order. After he entered his apartment building after traversing the chilly city streets, he climbed the stairs to the second floor and unlocked his door, and secured the deadbolt behind him after he entered. He shook the stray snowflakes from his hair, and placed his coat in the closet, his boots underneath it to dry before his early morning shift. He settled into a chair at his table until the kettle shrieked, stirring him from his daze. He quickly poured himself a cup of tea and returned to the table with a notepad and pen, in an attempt to draft a plan. All he had written was “Captain Hawkeye” at the top before he was stumped and wordless. She was gifted with words, despite being blunt and official in nature she had often helped him with penning and drafting the documents he had infrequently had to write from scratch. He was good with strategizing, but somehow no strategic plan could manifest in his mind with the amount of stress he was feeling. He sipped the tea until he had emptied his cup, and tapped his pen more insistently against the drafted document that housed absolutely no information, no plan. He refilled his cup to the brim and the steaming liquid warmed his fingers as he wrapped his hands around the cup, pacing his apartment for a few moments to bring clarity to his mind. He had handled hostage situations before, many times, he had even been a hostage when they had forced him to complete human transmutation, but she had never been the hostage, he had never lost her before. 

When her neck was cut and he was held to watch her bleed out on the floor, he had felt like his body was emptying its own blood, as if he was dying right there beside her. It was agony, seeing her dying before him, and he swore that if she was dying now, he would feel it. He had no reason to think he could know, no supernatural force could possibly give him that power and alchemy held no answers for such things, but somehow he felt like he would know if his subordinate was gone, and instead of feeling empty, he felt furious, he was determined and absolutely enraged. With a snap, the paper disintegrated on his table and he replaced it with a fresh piece. This time, when he brought his pen to the paper, he began to write, and a plan formulated before him. He was barely aware that he had flipped the page and continued on the back, his tea now cold and forgotten nearby, likely staining the nice white mug. Finally, he set his pen down, exhausted. If he worked any longer that evening he realized he would be too drained the following morning to carry out any of the plans he had devised, and he knew that no amount of planning could substitute for actual energy and manpower. Roy rose from the chair, placing the cup in the sink to deal with the following day, and trudged to his bedroom, turning the lights off for the evening. He dressed himself plainly for bed after splashing his face with water, and settled in for a few hours of sleep that he feared would be rather unrestful. 

His dreams that night were plagued with the casualties of war, specifically dreadful memories of his time in Ishval. He sat in the camp, a short ways from an Ishvalan village. It had been his turn to keep watch on the northern end of camp, so he sat with his back against a tree, his gaze fixedly sweeping across the desert landscape before him every few minutes or so, determined to ensure the safety of his fellow soldiers. War was brutal, and war was not kind. He had been young, but the state alchemist had known what he was signing up for, he was signing up for ferocity and viciousness, but up until the moment he set foot in Ishval he had thought that the opponent would be soldiers. Soldiers of another race, with different goals and ideals, soldiers that were fighting his country and putting the safety of his nation and its people in jeopardy. He had not expected to be taking down crowds of civilians and innocent people who had no place in a battlefield. It was no battlefield he could have ever imagined, he had pictured endless sand dunes and harsh terrain, not villages and towns of people simply living their lives the way that they wished. He had felt guilt for signing his life away for this, he had known his teacher was against the military up until the day he had died, but Roy was sure it was because he despised their power, not because they did terrible things like this. He had been bitter, but ultimately he realized that he had to commit these atrocities, otherwise he would lose everything, and if he wanted to become the Fuhrer of the nation someday, he would have no chance if he gave up now, so he had closed his eyes and given in and tried his hardest to become numb. Into his vision came a woman, exiting her tent and stretching her arms far above her head as she gazed into the clear night sky. She recognized who was keeping post and sat silently beside him, just keeping him company for a short time. Before his dream could live out the rest of the memory and converse quiety with her, he felt like he was underwater and drowning. He grasped for her, but his fingers couldn’t reach hers, she was just too far away, and no matter how quickly he swam, she was just so far away. He screamed, the water felt like gelatin, or perhaps like quicksand, and he felt it fill his chest with the overwhelming weight of fear. Every second, she was drifting further from his grasp, and every time he thought he was just a centimeter away, she was suddenly miles out of reach. His anxiety peaked, and he shook his head in frustration, making eye contact with the woman. With just one glance he swore they had an entire conversation and had solved the problem, and in unison, the two swam upwards, trying to find the surface. Roy’s hands met something solid, and he pressed his hands decisively against the ice, steadily pounding his fists against it. Desperate to break through, he pressed all of his weight onto it with the last bank of his strength and his last saved breath, and suddenly he breached.

Sitting abruptly upright on his bed, Roy’s forehead was shiny with the sheen of sweat and not icy water, and he quickly wiped the back of his hand across it in efforts to keep his hair from sticking to his skin. His clock read 4:25, and he rose to dress himself after a quick shower. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was so close yet so far away, and he was unable to save her. The dream had been nothing but an Ishvalan war nightmare he was familiar with combined with the anxiety of the current situation, and he was well aware of the way fear could show itself in one’s dreams, he had spent years of his life experiencing that very phenomenon. Yet even as he parked his car at Central command and marched up the stairs to his office to sit at his desk, he still felt the chill of the deep waters choking him, and he knew that his only option was to find his Captain before she drowned.


	3. Flightless

A groan passed her lips before she had even considered opening her eyes to view her surroundings, knowing well enough that she was somewhere wholly undesirable and that the solace of even unrestful sleep was far preferable. When she did, she was met with a plain gray room, the area around her was so dimly lit that she was unable to determine the time of day, yet from her aching body she was sure it was no longer night and a considerable amount of time must have passed since her arrival. She attempted to distract her thoughts from the dampness of her clothes that left her vulnerable to the extreme chill of winter or the way that her soaked leather military issued boots sucked tightly to the raw flesh of her feet, doing little to protect her from the conditions. At least distracting herself would allow her to pretend that she was unaware of the frostbite that was starting to take place, or ignore that her hair was stuck to her neck with frozen beads of sweat combined with dust and the dampness of the wall she leaned against. Thinking and strategizing kept her mind busy and away from thinking about the dire consequences she may suffer as a result of being captured, and like any good adjunct her mind was dutifully focused immediately on the well-being of her commanding officer. She hoped that he would heed her warning and not come for her as she would be able to care for herself, and she was sure she would find a way to escape after spending some time learning about their actions and schedules. Perhaps she would even learn more of their motives and who they worked for, something more than simply 'we hate Roy Mustang' would frankly be enough for Riza to progress her mission from her hostage situation, and that would at least mean that being captured had some positive aspect. Riza flexed her fingers carefully, desperately willing warmth into her dull blue digits as she brought them to her mouth to blow the warmest air she could muster to attempt to speed the process. Hopefully he had slept, she thought, as Roy made his way to the front of her thoughts again, otherwise he would be tired at work today, and he was nearly as useless without sleep as he was in the rain. Her internal clock allowed her to believe it was somewhere around 8, the time she would be arriving at the office, followed by Roy a short while later. She would scold him for his tardiness. Surely the men would return to the cell soon, happy to find her alive to demand answers to more of their sensitive questions, and she would be more than happy to sit silently and take whatever punishment they could come up with, as she would never give up information that could injure her commanding officer or her team. She knew he would be safe at Central command, and she wished she had some telepathic power to be able to shout at him from afar to stay there. She only had her warnings over the phone to rely on as a warning for him, though she was sure the selfless man would foolishly create a plan to stroll into danger against her wishes. The men that she had heard speaking before she was knocked out didn’t have the telltale accent of a Drachman citizen. She had deduced that they were either Amestrian's posing as Drachman spies for the peace of mind assuming people would avoid them and give them space to carry out their assassination plans for General Mustang, or they were Amestrian citizens who were indeed Drachman spies, wanting the fall of their own nation as they worked with the enemy. At the time, she couldn't be so sure, but she was positive they were a threat that was not empty handed, and the last thing she wanted here was General Mustang.

Finally, a single man entered the cell, his shoulders slumped and his hands lazily shoved into the pockets of his soft tanned suede jacket. His lips were arranged into a smug smirk, and he sauntered along until he was not even a foot from touching Riza. "The name is Riza Hawkeye, eh?" He asked, poking fun and playing with fire in avoiding her title as he looked down upon her on the ground. Riza did not respond, and fiercely made eye contact, showing she was unwilling to step down and that she was a force to be reckoned with. He spat at her, and she turned her cheek away. Frustrated by her lack of response, the man brought his boot into contact with her ribs, watching her press harder against the wall, eyes tightly shut and her shoulders heaving as she forced her breathing into a normal pattern. "Not gonna talk then?" He taunted. Circling to his other side, his lips turned further up into a cartoonish grin. "How about telling us where good old Mustang is nowadays, clearly he's busy not caring enough to come for his Captain." His boot prod her right knee, which she pulled closer to her chest in response, her caramel colored eyes remaining in direct and firm contact with his own yellow orbs. 

"He wouldn't dare come for me. You have nothing of importance." Riza finally spoke bluntly, her ribs aching with every breath, and her body slowing with every motion in the freezing room. "I'll die first."

"Not if we can help it, doll. You're quite wrong, we have his adjunct. I'm sure he's planning how to find you as we speak." The man slammed the door behind him and the metal clanking of turning keys echoed throughout the stone cell. Riza leaned her head back to gaze at the ceiling, determined. She would be escaping, and she would be doing so soon. “I’ll be back, and I promise that you’ll want to talk when I return.” His dangerous laughter echoed eerily, filling the space easily with its volume. Listening carefully, Riza heard the change in his footsteps, learning that he had gone up a flight of stairs. She was now positive that the stone cell she was in was located in a basement, quite important for her escape plan. The room had no windows that she could see outside of the building from, though she was sure that if she stood to peek out of the small window in the locked door ahead of her she would likely be able to see the stairs, which she guessed to be roughly thirty feet to her left. Though the situation was unlucky, she was glad that she was not restrained in any way, so she hauled her body upwards with the intentions of mentally mapping the space around her.

Riza ran the past events over in her head, scanning them to not forget any details and to hopefully give her some more information about her kidnappers. At nine o’clock the previous evening, her small team of specially selected soldiers was actively under siege, and the weather was far too poor to phone Briggs and send a distress call and request backup support, and far too inclement to call and inform their home command centers of their whereabouts and the current situation. Riza had shot two of the troops, but the remaining four had surpassed her small team one by one with moderate ease, conveniently out of the sight of the sniper floors above them. Left without backup, and out of time, she had had nowhere to go when they entered her building, and she was unable to exit before a large man stood in the doorway, driving a bullet into her right shoulder as she drove one into the center of his chest. She had attempted to ignore the pain, but her second shot had gone awry, and missed the man behind the one who had shot her. Her head was knocked into the wall behind her, and her vision had gone dark. She distantly remembered through muddied memories that her wound had been haphazardly but tightly wrapped and dressed in what she believed to be a moving vehicle, the open bed of a speeding truck, before she had slipped back into the darkness of unconsciousness. 

She mentally logged her injuries to consider her condition, the gunshot wound on her shoulder was firmly wrapped, only emitting a dull ache that she was sure would be far worse if she was not running off of adrenaline and in a very cold location. When she pressed her numb fingers to the wound they came back into her vision free of fresh blood, allowing her to safely assume that she was no longer actively bleeding from the injury, any good sign was a small victory. Surely the small amount of concussed rest wasn’t the worst thing for her injuries as well, since her muscles weren’t protesting her motion, much appreciated by the Captain. She was able to move her arm in a fair arc of motion, and her fingers didn’t tingle when she moved them around, informing her that a nerve had likely not been hit or damaged by the bullet she assumed had been removed when her wound was wrapped. Though grateful that she wasn't bleeding out, she resented that they had chosen to tend to her wound, meaning that she was likely intended to be kept alive for them to dangle over Mustang's head. She despised the idea of being used as a pawn in some terrible plan to get to the General, but she was determined to somehow drive him as far away from her small stone block cell as possible. She deduced that her ribs were likely just sore after the kick, they didn’t feel broken and just created a small ache to her core that she considered favorable to the alternative of broken bones. Her chilled digits were likely going to become frostbitten eventually even though they were just cold at the moment, so she made an effort to rub them together to warm them with friction. She stood at the door and peered through the dust coated amber glass, the room outside of her cell coming into view. It was large and open, and she had been correct about the staircase which had a door at the very top, though it didn’t appear to have a lock of any kind. The entire space had no windows, or any way for her to decide where she was. The space was empty, with no objects for her to potentially use as weapons, or any way for her to contact someone on the outside or even guess at her location. She cursed about not remaining awake during their travels to at least count and see how far she was from her previous location, though that was something she didn’t have the luxury of choosing when she was hit over the head. However, not knowing meant that she had no idea which direction they had taken her, or how far they had gone, since she had been out for the entire night. She reasoned that they wouldn’t have gone any further north, any further from where she was stationed would be within view of Briggs, and that was asking for danger for her captors. She was positive they had not travelled the entire night, no more than a couple hours, as she had awoken and they had made her call Roy last evening, before she returned to her restless slumber. She had been able to tell it was late from the rasp in his tired voice, but she doubted he would have stayed later than midnight at the office so she must have come to this place before then, allowing only a couple hours of lost time between being captured and calling Roy. Earlier she had assumed to be somewhere between six and ten in the morning, she had felt so sure in it being around eight earlier, but her internal clock and the passing of time were no longer quite as clear and she couldn’t be sure of what time she thought it to be. Frankly she had no idea what time it was and she didn’t have the slightest guess. Either way, surely they were only a few dozen miles at most from where she had been stationed with the Eastern soldiers, otherwise her captors wouldn’t have held siege on such unfamiliar ground.

After a while of brisk pacing, Riza decided that she had moved enough to get her blood flowing for a while, and settled back onto the corner on the floor as her body complained, making sure to remain facing the heavy metal door. The chill of the floor continuously shot through her body, though she did appreciate the wall keeping her shoulder cold, something she was sure was assisting heavily in her pain management. All of her training told her that she would be much safer and warmer leaning against the inside wall with the door on it instead of what she felt was the outermost wall of the building, but she was unwilling to give up the little power she still had in the form of being able to see out the small window. She wondered what Mustang was spending his morning doing, surely he had arrived at work already, she knew he was likely in meetings about how to handle her current situation. Cursing herself for getting caught, she hoped that Roy had called Eastern Command to inform them about their fallen soldiers; she was unable to protect them all at once, though she still felt a pang of guilt for their loss. It never mattered how long one knew another soldier, their loss was always something that was difficult. By the time that she was brought to wherever she was, Roy had still been in the office, and she wished he had told her what time it was, though she knew it must have been late at night by how his voice sounded like it was missing sleep. They had brought the military radio with them for her to call from, and she mentally noted that she should find it immediately if she was able to escape the room and subdue her kidnappers, it would be her direct line to Briggs, who would be the fastest and most reliable to arrive to assist her if Mustang wasn’t already somehow on his way. She was sure that the location they were sending to Central was a trap, and she knew Mustang would know that, but she also knew that it wouldn’t stop him from trying to investigate and learn as much as he could. She just hoped that she would be able to figure out her location before he had the option to act on any impulse to flatten the entirety of the north with his flames in an attempt to find her.

Riza untangled her hair and removed the clip holding it up, combing her fingers through it in an attempt to straighten her appearance. Despite being a hostage, she refused to not be an exemplary example of the Amestrian military, so she untangled her hair as best as she could with her fingers, and swept it carefully back up into her typical swept back hairstyle, neat and clipped and out of the way. Settling back into the wall for what she realized would likely be a while, she was left to consider how chilled she was, and she wished Roy was there to light a fire to sit beside and warm her fingers over. Except she absolutely did not want Roy there, as much as her body screamed to be beside him because she was unable to protect him from such a great distance, she did not want him here or anywhere near here, wherever here may be. She thought that she could at least guilt-lessly wish for his gloves so her fingers would be warm, borrowing his gloves wouldn’t put him in danger. She wanted nothing more than a dry uniform instead of her damp and frozen one that was now covered in dust and mud from being damp and sitting on a dirt floor, she could feel the muck and gathered water beginning to solidify against her red skin. Riza knew she would weather the storm and make it out, she had to otherwise she would be letting her General down, but she couldn’t help but wish that the experience could have a bit less frostbite and chill keeping her from wanting to move. If she didn’t make it out soon, surely the cold would kill her much sooner than her captives possibly could. She nearly laughed at the notion of her wishing she had been kidnapped in a more opportune location, knowing that this was exactly what they had wanted and that it would keep her best subdued if she was freezing and losing body heat. Finally, she decided she had sat long enough waiting, and that it would do her good to get some more rest now that she had checked her surroundings as best she could. If nothing else, it would mean she would be better rested and in a better state of mind to deflect their promised interrogation later, and perhaps sneak her way into asking a few questions of her own. With the willpower of a seasoned soldier, she cleared her mind intentionally, and slipped into dreamless sleep. 

When she awoke, it was to a set of footsteps descending the stairway. Listening closely, she determined it was two people, their stomping boots were soon followed by deep laughter and chatter as another set of footsteps came more quickly down the steps than the first duo. A fist slammed against the outside of her cell door before a key clicked into place, and the three men came into view. The first man was tall and bulky, his shoulder length black hair was pulled into a tight elastic at the nape of his neck. He had broad shoulders and a stature much taller than the other two men. Riza knew that typically she would be easily able to take him in combat, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think she had the same capability now that she was half frozen to death with a gunshot wound. The man beside the first was shorter than the first, but still quite tall. He was lean, almost too skinny, and his blond hair was messily slicked back and shiny with gel. He wore dark sunglasses far enough down his nose that she could see his piercing green eyes, and he wore a smirk that she knew was absolutely up to no good. Unlike the challenging first two guests in her cell, the third hung back a bit further in a way that read as timidity. This boy was no taller than Riza, and he was slender, wearing thick framed reading glasses that brushed the bottom of his dark brown shaggy bangs. Unlike the first two men who were dressed in thick winter coats and wearing thick fur lined boots, the younger male was wearing an animal skin jacket and some leather boots that looked far preferable to her own. He stood with an aura of intelligence and power, perhaps wealth was what she was reading from his stance and clothing. Something about him told her that he was not meant to be associating with the men that he was, but he didn’t appear to be upset about it nor did he appear uncomfortable or like he wanted to escape them. The men were chuckling amongst themselves, allowing Riza ample time to scan them to remember their features clearly, as well as making quick determinations about them as a result of their appearances. Clearly, the largest man was in charge, he had the attention of the other two at all times as they listened to him speak. After speaking to them, he slowly turned to make eye contact with Riza.

“Captain Hawkeye, is it?” He scowled into his words, his tongue dripping with hatred. “I cannot wait to see how General Mustang will react to us grounding his precious bird.”

Riza remained silent, not allowing him the benefit of satisfaction for her responding to his taunts. She was tough, and unwilling to provide him any information. As much as she desired nothing more than to be beside her General to protect him, she was fully willing to give her life if it meant him not having to come investigate and getting himself hurt or killed. She would freely welcome death if it meant his survival.

“Not chatty?” He asked, standing just at her feet as he glared down at her, the blond man standing right at his side. “We’ll change that really fast, sweetheart. It’s a shame you chose the military and protecting good ol’ Roy Mustang, you would have made a lovely wife to some lucky fella out there.” He grinned aloofly.

“C’mon boss! Women aren’t just wives!” The second man chimed in, laughing maliciously. “She could have been a great whore too, you know.” The first man joined in, prodding the shoulder of the blond man as they erupted into laughter.

“Get to business.” The smallest man spoke firmly, and the largest man sighed.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m ready for some information anyways.” He spoke up, brushing off laughter as quickly as he had begun. “And you’re going to give it to us.”

“Like hell I will.” Riza finally spoke up, fiercely meeting the eyes of her trio of captors, assessing their expressions thoroughly as she contained her emotions and feelings carefully under her determined and refrained gaze.

“You won’t be saying that when we’re done with you, doll.” The second man brought his foot to her injured shoulder, pressing her body against the wall. “You’ll be spilling answers before you know it, you won’t think twice about betraying everyone and everything you have served for.”

“I can assure you, I will not.” Riza spoke again, not reacting to the boot shooting pain down her arm and into her chest as the pressure of his boot made her fingertips number than the cold had been already.

“Tell us where it is.” The blond asked, pushing his boot further into her shoulder.

“Where what is.” She replied, not even a question, though she grit her teeth against his attack, her shoulder screaming in pain. She mentally thanked the conditions for lessening the pain she was able to feel in her freezing body.

“You know exactly what we want.” The burly man spoke, and the blond removed his boot, bringing a wave of relief until the burly man struck her across the face with his open hand. “We want the flame alchemist’s research.”

“I’m only his bodyguard.” Riza lied flawlessly and easily, her tone not giving away her stance or closeness to her superior officer. “I know nothing of his research or of alchemy.”

“We doubt that.” Glasses responded, a sigh passing his lips. Before she knew it, a bucket of water had been dumped over her head, causing her mouth to drop open in shock having not predicted the event. Her body felt like it was freezing, her muscles desperately wanting heat to counteract the attack of freezing water on her already cold body. “Do what you please, I’ll return later, we will get to the bottom of this.”

The burly man grinned his shark toothed grin at the blond, snapping his fingers at him playfully and mockingly. “She’s all yours this round.” He spoke, the door shutting firmly behind him.

“Well babe, ready for me?” The blond asked in a taunt, bending at his waist to bring his face only millimeters from her own. Before she could react, his lips collided with her own, his hand pulling her chin into his face forcibly. She pulled back, slamming her head hard against the wall to escape his grasp.

“Go to hell.” She spoke through firmly grit teeth, the anger evident on her face.

“What, are you too good for me?” He playfully pouted, his lips tugged downward in an exaggerated frown. “Are you only for General Mustang to play with?” He swiftly swung his leg into her side, smashing his boot heel firmly down into the muscle of her thigh, twisting it deeper until her face read the pain she was battling internally. He spun on the heel of his boot and swiftly left the room, the clank of the door locking sounding in the small room.

Riza huddled into herself, her leg throbbing, her shoulder screaming, and her body freezing. She had promised Roy that if he needed her to, she would follow him into Hell. She had never expected that she would be entering it alone and not at his side, and she allowed herself to consider her own terror instead of ignoring it. Pretending one was not afraid in this situation would only cause much larger issues. So all she was left to do was to press her knees painfully to her chest, wrapping her arms around her drenched body as she attempted to wring out her clothing, and devise a plan.

The burly man walked slightly favoring his right leg. It reacted differently when it touched the ground, so she safely deduced that he had an automail leg. The blond man saw her with what she could only classify as lust, unlike the way the burly man and the man with glasses viewed her with hatred. He would be easiest to win over. The boy with the glasses was tough to assess, he kept his emotions much more internally than the other two men. However he was slender and not quick footed, and appeared to be quite arrogant. She was sure that even in her current state, she could easily overpower him. She would wait for the right moment to strike, and she would strike hard. As soon as she exited the cell she would be alright. She could hear the floor move above her on the floor above, and she had never heard more than three sets of footsteps. If she got out of the cell, she would find the phone, and a gun, and some clothing that wasn’t soaking wet. If she could obtain those things, or even just a gun, or dammit she was willing to pursue this mission even if she couldn’t find a gun, she would get out of this hellhole, and she would find safety to contact General Mustang to let him know she was okay. She was positive that if she exited she would be able to navigate north and find Fort Briggs. The odds of her plan working were slim, especially if she was unable to find dry or warm clothing, but she was not going to back down. It was her only hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four is coming soon, I promise! Please follow so you'll see when it's uploaded, I'm hoping to have it up within the week (:


	4. Strategy

Roy was afraid, and he was doing very little to hide it from his team. His movements were choked and mechanical, and his brain was too busy racing through ideas and options and possibilities to even consider listening to the concerned chatter of his subordinate officers as they arrived. He gazed out his window, hand resting across his lower face in thought. The heel of his hand pressed firmly into his chin as he tapped his gloved index finger rhythmically across his lips and cheek, deeply considering the grave situation at hand. He had no idea of his Captain’s whereabouts, her condition, anything regarding how and why she had been captured, or any idea of what forces were behind this. He was expecting a call from Olivier Armstrong any moment now, the Major General had personally headed a team to investigate the area that Captain Hawkeye and her small team had been stationed at and was under orders to report all details formally and directly to him upon their arrival back to Briggs. She was an organized woman, and they had left on their mission long before sunrise, so he expected the call soon. Roy slowly paced, continuing to look out the large picture window behind his desk as the sun slowly crept up into its place in the sky above Central city. He was desperate for any information he could get his hands on, and even more desperate to know what condition his Captain was in and how she was faring if she was injured, as it had been at least twenty four hours since her capture. He was hoping that General Armstrong’s report would be able to offer more insight into when she was captured and how, or why, or anything about it for that matter. He hoped that her team, or at least some of it, was alive, though he hoped so selfishly as he felt they may be able to offer some firsthand information about what had occurred the prior evening. As the last couple officers of his own team settled into their desks with steaming cups of coffee, he was startled by their lack of complaint at the early hour, although he knew they all possessed the same desire he did to find and reclaim their missing officer he somehow missed their jabber and tirade of insults aimed to the clock that would indicate some sense of normalcy in this terribly abnormal day. Not thirty seconds after the clock chimed to indicate that it was five in the morning, Grumman entered the office perfectly on time, typical for the punctual Fuhrer. The team shared a few moments of grave silence with their superior after he dismissed their salutes, unsure of what to say or how to begin to put their fear and concern into words. As Fuery began to open his mouth to speak some sort of positivity, the telephone rang in it’s shrill interrupting tone that Mustang was learning to dread every chime of. He strode to the phone, pen already in hand to accompany the pad of paper sitting beside the phone’s dock on his desk. He sat, lifting the receiver to his ear, and responded with the most firm and typical “General Mustang,” that he could muster.

“General Mustang, this is General Armstrong, sir.” Olivier’s voice was softer than he usually experienced it, and her overuse of his rank showed him that she was taking the situation as formally as possible as to avoid any personal ties to this case that was unfortunately all too personal to everyone becoming entrapped in it. “My men and I have completed our search and preliminary investigation of the small village that Captain Hawkeye and her team of six men from Eastern Command were occupying during their mission.” 

Roy felt his heart beating so rapidly that he feared it would burst from his chest and continue to beat on the shiny floor at his feet. He summoned as much formality as he was capable of in an effort to match Armstrong’s, drawing all of his learnings from military academy into his conversation. “What is the status, General?”

“Of the six men, five of them were found dead, and one is alive but injured. We have called to inform Eastern Command of the news, and we have taken the duty upon ourselves to retrieve and prepare the bodies to be returned to the East for burial. All of the dead were pronounced on scene, and all of them received gunshot wounds as the cause of death. All gunshot wounds were to the head or chest at angles that indicated that the fight was head on and that the offenders were attacking on the same level of ground as our own men. Our surviving officer is Second Lieutenant Landry Evans, and he has been admitted to our own hospital ward here at Briggs. Lieutenant Evans is not currently conscious and suffered a few injuries, but the medics are suspecting he will awake within the next few hours as his injuries are not substantial or life threatening. Our search of the area allows us to assume that there was a battle of significant duration on site, most of the buildings around that area of the village are riddled with bullet scars and shells. All of the officers besides Evans were found outdoors, Evans was found in the bottom floor of a small building. The top floor of the building is where we suspect Captain Hawkeye was positioned, as it had a good view of the majority of the city, and there was no shortage of bullet shells found where we believe she was positioned. We recovered one unknown male from this area, he was shot with a bullet of the same caliber as Captain Hawkeye’s weapon. Unfortunately we also found a significant amount of blood where we believe Captain Hawkeye herself was positioned, and although we have no way to confirm it’s origin, it’s safe to assume that Captain Hawkeye was injured in the attack, though you did inform us that she was the one who delivered the call to you and we can assume that this injury is not life threatening. We were unable to get any form of identification from the man that Captain Hawkeye shot, nor any of the men we found that had been sniped by the Captain or shot by her team on ground level. They’re all dressed simply in warm clothing with no identifiable markings of gangs or spies, nor any military gear.” General Armstrong paused for a moment for the General to digest all of the information she had relayed, faintly hearing the scratching of his pen on the other end as he recorded all of the important details she had told him.

“Thank you for the information, General.” Mustang spoke as he removed his pen from the paper, tapping the end on his desk. “Without any indication of origin of the offenders, do you have any potential details or suggestions about where the remaining men went after capturing Captain Hawkeye?”

“We did locate quite a few sets of footprints heading out of the town, though the storm was quite bad last night and we’re unable to see more than where they left the town, since their footprints remained where they broke through already existing ice. They exited the town on the East side, if that offers any direction, though vague.” She spoke carefully. “I’ve sent a team of my best men east from the village unmarked on a hiking expedition to not raise any alarms, since this is a frequently visited area by adventure seeking hikers. They’re on orders to hike east and through the next two towns along that set hiking path, that covers about ten miles and twenty five miles from the village the Captain was stationed at to the next villages, respectively. They’re nondescript and will not be giving any information to anyone they come across regarding the case and are ordered to not speak of the missing Captain even if this should hit the news. They will be contacting me at each village they stop at and will be relaying encoded information to me about their findings and locations. I’m sending my healthiest and best men, they are fast and well trained for the trek, I suspect it will take them no longer than twenty four hours to complete the twenty five mile journey, as they are well equipped for even the worst weather.”

“I see, thank you very much, General Armstrong. I will keep you in touch with Central command’s plans and response, I greatly appreciate your rapid response.” Mustang nodded, exhausted by the sheer amount of information he was consuming. 

“Yes, the Brigg’s men are fully capable of this mission and I will see to it that we follow this case until the end. I will inform you of any changes or if we gather further information, I’ll be sending a small investigative team for a secondary check of the village later today to find any potentially missed details. I’m happy to be beside you and your men to recover Captain Hawkeye, she is an important asset of the Amestrian military.” With that, she ended the call, leaving Roy to take a moment to himself as he listened to the dull hum of the dead line before he placed the receiver back on its base. He immediately relayed all of the information that General Armstrong had informed him of to his team and Fuhrer Grumman, and they all met him with serious faces, ready to devise a further plan.

“I see that General Armstrong responded quickly and seems to have this situation under control.” Grumman replied, motioning to his assistant to fetch him coffee. “Our plans will have to have Briggs at the forefront, as this is their terrain and area of expertise, our Central forces are far from equipped to battle on the northern fields, and we cannot risk all of our forces for one officer, no matter how important Captain Hawkeye is.” He spoke solemnly. The team was angry, though they understood.

“What are we going to do then?” Havok asked loudly. “We’re not sitting by idly, this is Captain Hawkeye we’re talking about!”

“Yeah, sir! We want to do everything in our power to bring back the Captain and assist Briggs.” Fuery spoke, earning curt nods in agreeance from Falman and Breda.

“We’re going to devise a plan.” Mustang spoke up again, “Have they sent us the address?”

“Yes, I have it with me.” Grumman spoke, holding a small paper out for Mustang to take. “Warehouse 564, Hyperborea City.” 

Mustang pulled an old yellowed map from his desk, his hand hovering across the northern parts until he located the city, circling it with a red marker. He then circled Fort Briggs, and the small unnamed village that Captain Hawkeye and her team had been stationed at. He furrowed his brow. “General Armstrong said that the footprints in ice indicated that the men left with Hawkeye from the eastern end of the village, but the address they sent is nearly forty miles to the north-west.” He drew a small arrow pointing east from the unnamed village.

“We knew they weren’t going to send us an actual address, boss.” Falman spoke.

“Yes yes, I know.” Mustang grunted. “But Hyperborea City is very close to Briggs, see?” He jabbed at the map, his circle around the city and the fort butting up against each other. “Why would they send us the address of a location in a well populated city, within a short walking distance to the best protected area in all of Amestris?”

“Surely there is some meaning behind this location.” Grumman hummed in agreement. “Before we create further plans, I would like to send a team of men to investigate this city and the address sent to us. They’re expecting that we send you as they requested, Mustang, but we will not be giving in to their wishes.” Before Mustang could speak a word of the complaint and disagreement he was ready to spout, Grumman had already held up a finger to silent him. “I know you desire to investigate this personally, but we know that they have Captain Hawkeye in their possession, and we’re also quite aware that they are holding her to get to you. After all, Hawkeye was there to investigate a group of insurgents who wanted to assassinate you, no? By capturing Hawkeye they believe that they have leverage on us, and sending you there gives them no reason to keep her alive.”

The realization hit Mustang like a truck, and his jaw hung slightly loosely as his lips parted. “Yes sir.” He said softly. “You’re correct.”

“I will, however, be sending your team. In Captain Hawkeye’s absence, I will be assigning Sergeant Fuery as your temporary adjunct and guard.” Grumman spoke, and Fuery nodded firmly, taking the duty proudly knowing that he was well trusted. “As for the investigation, I’d like Second Lieutenant Havok to lead your team, bringing along Second Lieutenant’s Falman and Breda. I’d like to round your team out a bit more by sending a state alchemist with you, and I will phone Major Armstrong to accompany you.”

“Yes sir!” the three officers saluted firmly at the order.

“When are we to leave for the investigation?” Falman asked, releasing his salute upon Grumman’s request.

“I’d like you all to go to the uniform office and equip yourselves with the warmest clothing we have, as well as making sure you are reasonably armed with weapons and ammunition. Once Armstrong arrives, we will make preparations for your train and further transportation.” The three responded with more “Yes Sir!”’s, and left the room quickly to do as they were told, Fuery stood silently at Mustang’s side upon receiving his orders.

Roy sat in painful silence brewing in anger that he knew was unnecessary since this plan was well within reason. Despite knowing that he could not go north without putting himself in the hands of exactly who desired him to go there, he wanted nothing more than to lead his team himself and handle the situation as quickly as possible to bring her back, even if it took him levelling entire cities to get her into his grasp. She was valuable, she was his Queen, she was important and couldn’t just be treated like any ordinary hostage.

“I know you dislike my orders, Mustang.” Grumman spoke, and Mustang detected the slightest amount of sympathy in his voice. “But you know that this is what is best.”

“Yes, Sir.” Mustang replied, sullen. “What are my orders?”

“This is up to you, frankly.” Grumman shrugged, standing from his table. “You’re barred from entering the field, however, and that is an order.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Mustang stood abruptly, his wheeled chair shooting behind him and bumping against the wall and window. “I need orders, Sir, I can’t just sit here idly!”

“Calm yourself, Mustang, I did not say your orders were to sit idly. I said your orders are up to your discretion. You may not enter the field, but you can gather as much information and formulate this plan on your own. I do not feel you need further heading from myself, and I am placing you in the position in charge of this entire mission. Everyone investigating, including the Brigg’s men, are to report to you.”

“Thank you Sir.” Mustang calmed as he was ordered, his eyes pressing shut in determination. As Grumman grabbed the handle of the office door, Roy spoke up once more. “Sir?” he asked, Grumman turning and nodding as a reply to continue. “I’ll be physically reporting to Briggs myself.”

“Why is that?” Grumman replied, his eye contact warning firmly that he was not to disobey his orders to enter the field at this time.

“I cannot function in this so far from what is occurring. I’ll be taking office in Fort Briggs to handle this situation at the root location.” He spoke firmly and with an aura of confidence, unwilling to back down from his choice.

“Understood. I expect you to inform me of major changes, and your orders to remain out of the field will stand until I feel it is fit that you join the men in recapturing Captain Hawkeye into our possession.”

“Yes, Sir.” Mustang saluted firmly, and began gathering all of the supplies he would need to bring with him to Briggs immediately after the Fuhrer left his office. He shoved maps and paperwork and writing materials into his leather bag, taking mind to put several extra pairs of ignition gloves inside before he removed the ring of keys for his and his subordinate officer’s desks. He walked to Hawkeye’s desk, and his eyes remained situated upon her nametag. He opened her desk with the key to it that he kept in his own desk, intentionally locating the second drawer from the bottom, and removing one of her many extra pistols from the locked box within it. He placed it in his bag unloaded with the safety on, dropping a round of ammunition in as well. He knew that once they found her she would desire nothing more than the safety of her trusted weapon, and he was unwilling to take that power from her. Below her weaponry box in the drawer, a piece of paper poked out that he could not help but be nosy enough to read. He scanned the page, wide eyed in knowledge that he had found her living will, military ordered for every officer of the military. They were kept in the archive room of Central command, but officers were expected to keep their own copy on hand. His eyes flowed through the standard document, eventually landing on the formally written line reading ‘power of attorney,’ the person chosen by the individual to carry out any dying wishes or funeral arrangements. In her lovely and neat writing, his own name sat filled into the line. 

He pressed the document firmly back into the drawer as if it were poisoned and plagued with death, locking the drawer swiftly and returning to his own desk to lock it as well. He locked the office behind him as Fuery met his side with his own belongings, traversing the long halls of the command center as they too went towards the uniform room for better clothing to fight the cold. However, all he could think of was his name sitting on the line in her familiar handwriting. Power of attorney. Though he wasn’t surprised by the fact that she had chosen him, it logically made sense for her to select her superior officer and longest friend, he was appalled at the thought that this meant that she had considered that she would be dying before him. His mind filled with disgust, knowing that she would do anything in her power to assure that he lived longer than her. His lips curved into a look of severe repugnance, and he forcibly expelled the thought from his mind as if his sanity depended on it.

Roy had only one option now. To find and recover her; he would not settle for recovering her body, and he would absolutely not be settling as a power of attorney over her body and possessions and last wishes. He would be recovering his living, trustworthy, dedicated, adjunct, his right hand man, his Captain. He would be recovering the girl that he had met as a child working as an apprentice under her father, Berthold Hawkeye. He would be recovering the soldier who joined the military to ensure his safety. He would be recovering the officer that fought tirelessly by his side committing countless sins in Ishval, and the Lieutenant that served by his side during the Promised Day. The Lieutenant that had been dangled before him as a threat and the Lieutenant that Mei had saved. He would be recovering the Captain that he had been so proud of for her promotion. He would be recovering the woman who promised to stand by his side through it all, who promised to walk through hell if he required it, and who he would remain loyally by his side as he someday served as Fuhrer. He would be recovering his Captain, not Amestris’s Captain, and like hell would he ever be allowing her to get into a situation like this ever again. Roy’s fingers rippled with the desire to torch the entire Earth if it would bring her closer to her, his Captain, his Hawkeye, his Riza. And he would not be giving in until she was safely at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad that y'all are enjoying this story! I was able to post this chapter quite ahead of schedule, and I think I'm pretty pleased with it. Next chapter is likely going to be quite long and eventful, so buckle up! As of right now, this story looks like it will likely span about eight chapters, I hope you stick around to see it all play out.


	5. Northbound

Roy had fit himself with the warmest clothing Central had to offer, and neatly packed extra uniforms away into his duffel bag. Following packing his own necessities and quickly tidying his apartment, he drove to Riza’s apartment, entering using his copy of her apartment key. The space inside was meticulously organized, not a single speck of dust on any surface he could see. He removed his boots, and took a seat at the edge of her plush couch, bringing his face down to sit squarely in his hands, his elbows perched on his knees. After spending a short time reflecting on the situation, he rose from the couch and walked to her bedroom down the hallway from her living room. Her bed was on the same wall as the door of the quaint room, made up military style with the corners tucked neatly and the pillows flat and fluffed. He opened her closet, which he found to be organized into military uniforms and civilian clothes. Taking special care to not mess up her bed, he placed a clean uniform on it, followed by a comfortable looking beige cotton sweater and some loose and soft black slacks. He figured she would appreciate some clean clothing after her unfortunate time away, and he preferred the positive mentality of her being able to change into a clean uniform instead of having to change into hospital scrubs. He found it inappropriate to shuffle through her undergarment drawers, but he thought she would require something clean, so he found what he required and dutifully placed the garments beside her uniform and sleepwear. He made sure to pack a pair of thick wool socks, sure she would be appreciative of the warmth they would provide her so far north. He found her duffel back on the floor of her closet beside her shoes, and packed it with the items he had selected, packing her extra uniform boots beside her clothing with the soles pressed together so they wouldn’t dirty her clothes. He tossed the duffel over his shoulder and shut the door to her bedroom behind him and placed it on her dining room table as he moved about her apartment gathering things he felt she may require or may bring her comfort. It took some time to locate, but he shuffled through her kitchen cabinets to find a box of her favorite tea, adding it to the bag before zipping it. Roy was desperate to spend time here, it was the place that was spilling over with her neat but personable energy, and frankly he was comforted by the way the space smelled so warm and familiar, but he had no time to waste standing in her home missing her, and he had a train to catch. After spending just a moment too long reminiscing as he gazed at a framed photograph hung beside her door; Riza and himself were celebrating her completion of military academy training. He locked the door to her apartment and dropped her duffel on top of his own in the passenger seat of his car, taking no time to glance behind him before the building left his site. 

After he arrived at Central, he met Fuery at the front door, and Breda, Falman, Havok, and Armstong arrived shortly after. Grumman’s assistant took the liberty of driving the men to the train station, and before much time had passed the set of military personnel was northbound on the steam engine. Grumman had spoken with General Armstong and had organized transportation for Mustang and Fuery from the train station to Briggs, and the crew of Mustang’s men that was set to investigate the strange address would be going one stop further then hiking into the village as it wasn’t too far away. Mustang sank into his seat, drawing his warm coat around himself tighter the further they travelled north. He couldn’t help but wonder how cold Hawkeye was now, trapped as a hostage in some terrible conditions. He shook his head as if to clear the thoughts, and forced himself to sleep with his face resting against the window beside him. 

When he awoke, the train was pulling into the station, and he could see the shiny black car waiting beside the train for Fuery and himself. He wished his men the best of luck before he bid them farewell, ordering them to inform him immediately about any new information. When he entered the back seat of the black vehicle, he was greeted by the one and only commander of Fort Briggs, Olivier Armstrong.

“Well, it’s quite an honor that you came yourself to retrieve us from the train station, General Armstrong.” Fuery piped up with a smile, earning a stoic look in response from the blonde woman.

“Nonsense, I’d like to use this time to talk business.” She spoke, putting the car into gear and speeding off onto the snow covered road heading even further north. “I felt it would be rather efficient to use as much time as we can find to work on this case.”

“Yes, is there any new information on this case, General?” Mustang asked, grateful for her dutiful reaction.

“Frankly, no, my team is due to report from the first village this evening, and my secondary investigation team to the village where Captain Hawkeye was captured came up dry with no new results.” Armstrong spoke dutifully, pausing just a moment to catch Roy’s eye in the rearview mirror. “My concerns lie elsewhere in this investigation.”

“What are those concerns, General Armstrong?” Mustang asked, though he was sure he was already well aware of her response, and was in the midst of crafting a proper response.

“I think you’re too close to this case to handle it.” Olivier spoke firmly and without hesitation or padding her statement. “Hawkeye might be your subordinate and your duty, but you’re too close. I think the Fuhrer was correct in allowing you to oversee this, but I will not have you getting in the way of my men. We will be heading all physical missions and I will not allow you to overstep.”

“Sir, the Captain is a member of my time and is my adjunct, I see it fit that I will be heading and carrying out all possible investigation to lead to her retrieval.” Roy challenged. “Your men will not be impeded by my presence.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said in a way that somehow conveyed no respect behind the formal term, “But you are far too close to her. This is personal for you. If we do not find her, or if we find her body, you cannot let emotions get into this. This is a military action and strictly that.”

Roy pressed his eyes closed for a second, unfortunately aware of her propriety and faultless statement. He didn’t verbally reply, but he knew that she saw when he nodded and seemed content with the response. Fuery quickly found need to begin a conversation with Armstrong, who gave him curt replies as he inquired more about the way her fort functioned and praised her for it’s value to the country. Despite not being in the mood for the chatter, Roy silently thanked Fuery for his willingness to fill the silence in the uncomfortable car that sped towards the impenetrable gray walls of Fort Briggs.

After they arrived at Briggs, the duo from Central were shown to Roy’s temporary office within the stone structure. It was majorly underwhelming, the bland gray walls led up to tall gray ceilings, and a standard desk sat on the gray stone floor. At it sat two chairs on either of the long sides, and one extra chair in the corner. Lucky for Mustang, a sizable whiteboard hung behind the desk on the wall and he had been supplied several differently colored markers to use, which he felt would be valuable in strategizing. Since the space was not intended to be an office, it had a small bathroom attached, and sat in the hallway that also held two identical rooms that were assigned as living quarters for the two soldiers. Roy held back complaints regarding the size and treatment of their wellbeing, biting his tongue and thanking the soldier who had shown them to their rooms. Roy instructed Fuery to begin filing the paperwork that he had brought from his desk in Central on the case, organizing it in levels of urgency and necessity, and he began drafting up his plan with the limited information he had been given. Though the room itself was plain and utilitarian, the top drawer of his desk contained several office supplies which quickly made themselves handy as Roy taped the map from his desk to the space beside the whiteboard. Tapping the capped marker on his lips in thought, he brainstormed as he used his well trained military thought process to determine the best course going forward. Checking the graphic scale to further specify distance, he began writing on the board.

Unnamed Village -> Fort Briggs = 10 miles (NORTH)  
Unnamed Village -> Address in Hyperborea City = 24 miles (NORTH-WEST)  
Hyperborea City -> Fort Briggs = 2 miles (NORTH)  
… Captain Hawkeye = ?

Surely that wasn’t enough information to give him a single clue where to look, but Roy didn’t curse the lack of information, rather forging a plan within his head. If the people who had kidnapped Hawkeye were familiar enough with the terrain to do so during such a significant snowstorm, they surely were familiar enough with the area surrounding the village Hawkeye was taken from. The captors would have been extremely well aware that Hyperborea City was very close to Briggs, they would never actually have meddled in that city with Hawkeye, at most they may have placed information or a taunt there, and hopefully left behind information that his team would be able to gather. The unnamed village was just enough out of reach from Briggs during a storm that they couldn’t have attacked except for during a significant storm, since Briggs would have been able to come to their aid quickly with just a call for assistance. So that meant that the group had been watching the city and were using the mission Captain Hawkeye and her team were investigating as a cover for their larger plans of kidnapping, but they weren’t interested in anyone on the team besides Hawkeye. So even if the smaller groups of troops in the town were a decoy, their message was the same. They wanted to get to Roy personally, they just got lucky that he had sent his greatest soldier, and frankly the greatest leverage that any adversary could possibly obtain to lure him. It was a clear challenge. Roy found himself writing all of these things out in frustration, capping the marker once he realized he had simply run out of space on the board. Fuery read it over carefully, nodding in agreement with the points Roy had outlined.

Roy pulled a compass from the drawer, adjusting it to stretch about forty five miles according to the scale on the bottom legend of the map. Placing the needle in the center of the unnamed village, he drew a careful line stretching only directly right of the city and arcing to end just barely past the point directly below the unnamed village. This was his range to search, and although it was quite large, Roy felt a sense of power to having at least some tangible clue. Her kidnappers would absolutely not have gone north by any amount, and they wouldn’t have gone within a significant amount of space of the address they had sent, because they would have known the military would be crawling about that entire area in between the unnamed village and the address they had sent. So his only range was that directly south of the unnamed village, directly east, and well, everywhere in between. Before he had known it, the evening was encroaching, and he found that he was utterly exhausted from the mental exercise at his hands, his desire to find the Captain was surely fueling him to continue but it was most definitely draining him as well. He realized that he nor Fuery had eaten that day, and ordered Fuery to go with him to the mess hall for a late meal. He locked the makeshift office and the duo wandered the empty halls of the fort until they found the desired room, eating bowls of reheated stew with plain bread. Shortly after finishing their meals, General Armstrong entered the hall in search of them.

“I’m here to inform you that I’ve received a call and information from my men who were travelling eastward from the village, and I have a small amount of information worth sharing.” She spoke in her usual firm and authoritative voice. They nodded in response, and Roy followed her closely at her heels all the way to her conference room in the same way a puppy would follow a small child holding a biscuit. He nearly ran into her as she opened the door, and he took a seat directly beside her at the head of the table.

“Did you get any information about her possible whereabouts?” Roy’s voice nearly begged for information, desperate for any sense of direction in this terrible search, or at least a confirmation of some kind about his ongoing assumptions.

“Fortunately yes, although it isn’t much, my team did discover a couple valuable hints in their travels,” Armstrong began, and Roy felt himself sink into his chair as he unintentionally melted at the possibility of good news, hell, he was ready for any news. “A minor clue, though we may have assumed so, is that they did locate tire tracks just beyond the footprints we had located on the first search of the village, meaning that the men had access to faster transportation out of the town.”

“Is that right?” He breathed, and Fuery stirred beside him as he adjusted himself to lean closer to the conversation. “What else did they learn?”

“My men spoke to several reliable pre-selected contact individuals within both villages, they did get a tip about an active road that wasn’t typically active.” Armstrong said, placing a detailed map of the north on the table. On it were all of the towns and villages, and all of the major roads. It was significantly more advanced than the map Roy had taped to the wall in his office a floor above, making him curse himself for not requesting a better map as Briggs would surely have a good map of their terrain and area. He settled back upon the details of the map, noticing that the terrain was outlined in light contour lines. Armstrong held a bright red marker, and traced a road leading from the first village right of the unnamed village, and followed it slightly northeast just a few miles until it ended at a thicker contour line. “This road, according to locals, hasn’t been used in years. They also found some more compelling physical evidence when they followed the trail, though they were only able to hike a very short distance before turning back.”

“What did they find?” Roy was practically vibrating with the thrill of new, valuable information. Solid, real evidence about where his Captain was, and the realization that they truly had real leads was spilling over in his mind, throwing the idea forward that he would ideally be finding Riza much sooner than he had previously thought.

“A body.” Armstrong spoke, and Roy’s blood ran cold, an immediate change from just an instant earlier when he was bubbling with the thrill of finding her. His face grew pale as he stared expectantly at General Armstrong for what must have felt like hours, but in reality was just shy of three seconds before she delivered the information that allowed his heart to begin pumping once again. “It was a man dressed very similarly to those we found at the village having been shot by Captain Hawkeye. He was found with gunshot wounds matching the caliber of her rifle, that didn’t appear to be especially fresh as there was no fresh blood. This allows us to assume he was one of the men transporting Hawkeye and fell unconscious due to his injuries, perishing on the trail as a result.”

“I see.” Mustang said. “So, if this theory is correct, there’s a great probability that Hawkeye is in the vicinity of that trail.”

“Yes, sir, I believe so. The trail leads about four miles northeast from the trail head, and the dead male was found only a quarter mile in, but that is enough information for us to plausibly believe that Captain Hawkeye was indeed taken through that area.”

“This is good news.” Roy spoke, excited to raise a question forth. “Tell me, how long would it take someone to travel from the village to this trail?” He ignored how disheartened he felt in how his work on the map and whiteboard had done significantly less to help than the search carried out by Armstrong’s men, but he was beyond caring since he was so thrilled by the information. He didn’t allow himself to feel useless, despite wanting to feel that he wasn’t able to assist enough in the case, he was quite glad to be heading it and managing all of the inner workings and smaller investigations that were necessary for himself and General Armstrong to work out the important details from the fort. 

“Well, from the village she was taken from to the trail is roughly twelve miles. That could have taken anywhere from an hour and a half to two hours, with how bad the weather was at the time they would have had to move quite slow to avoid losing view of the road.”

“So, Captain Hawkeye was on the call from her kidnappers at roughly 10:15pm, meaning that the group must have taken her from the village at eight that evening. Seven is when she was due to call, and with the amount of gunfire they were easily combating the enemy for an hour, so the timeframe lines up nicely with the location.” Roy spoke, carefully keeping his voice professional and avoiding any excitement, and Armstrong nodded firmly with his insight.

“I understand that this is an extremely good lead, and that it would be very possible for me to organize a team for you and to send you off to investigate right this second, but I highly advise you wait for more information from your own team investigating Hyperborea City. They may be able to gather information from the address, city, and from citizens that may be very valuable to this investigation. It would be unintelligent to storm in without having gathered all of the possible information.”

“I agree, General.” Mustang spoke, realizing that the suggestions from Armstrong had been phrased much more kindly than she usually would have, and she had not insulted him in any way for being able to read that he wanted nothing more than to leave that very moment to find her. “My team arrived in Hyperborea hours ago, and are due to call me with all reports tomorrow at seven am, from there I will meet with you to discuss further plans and to arrange an expedition. I assume you have a trusted set of men who would be willing and equipped to lead the search and provide navigation for myself?”

“Yes, I’ll see that they’re contacted this evening and are ready for deployment any time tomorrow.” Armstrong spoke, the finality of her statement signifying that the meeting was over, so Roy rose, Fuery following suit. The two wandered the length of the room back to the door, where Mustang shared a final nod of thanks, and exited. In their walk back to their rooms, Mustang and Fuery were completely silent in thought. Roy had opened the office for them to grab their duffels from it, having only stopped by their rooms for location's sake on the way to the office before immediately busying themselves. He asked Fuery to appear in the office the following morning just before seven when the call was due from Havok’s team, and ordered that he try his best to get a good night’s rest in preparation for the likely very long day ahead. A silent hope was shared between the two that they would be doing recon the following day as they bid one another a curt ‘good night’. Fuery took it upon himself to drop his bag off in his room before stepping into a telephone booth at the end of the hall to phone Rebecca Catalina to ask how Riza’s dog was doing, and to offer her words of comfort to tell her that they were working hard and doing all they could to find her best friend. He felt comforted by hearing her voice and knowing that he wasn’t the only one who was experiencing many emotions, especially fear and concern, for his fellow officer, and it allowed him to feel a bit more normal amid the entire situation. 

Roy had brought his own bag into his room, the velcro of the duffle was velcroed through the handles of Riza’s bag to hold them firmly together in his travels. He detached the bags and placed his own on his bed and Riza’s on the floor at the end of the bed. Sorting through what he had packed, Roy removed a plain white t-shirt and a pair of straight legged grey sweat pants from it. Placing a pair of clean boxers atop the stack of clothes, he kicked off his shoes beside the bed, and walked into the small bathroom. It was utilitarian but functional, the small shower had a fogged glass door and beside it sat a simple toilet and sink. Above the sink was the smallest mirror possible, made of a shiny metal material he could only assume was reminiscent of the mirrors one may find in prison bathrooms. He sat his items on the sink, and foraged the drawer under the basin for a towel, which he hung over the fogged door. He ran the water for a moment before stepping in under the steam, welcoming the warmth. After a moment, he realized he had failed to bring his own soap, and cursed himself for the terrible assumption that he would be having a hotel-like experience and not a military academy-like experience. He had visited Briggs before, and should have known better. He felt lucky that he had been provided one small bar of soap for the sink, which he unwrapped and washed himself with. He absentmindedly wondered if Riza would like the scent of the provided soap or if she would be just as inconvenienced as he was by the situation. The thought only crossed his mind momentarily though, as he knew that Riza would have dutifully used what was provided, or even more likely, would have brought every material necessary somehow without overpacking. He felt bad for a moment for not packing her own soaps and toiletries in the duffel bag he had prepared for her, but eventually dismissed it as the water of his shower suddenly began to run ice cold. He swiftly turned it off, opening the door of the shower as quickly as possible so he could stand in the slightly fogged bathroom to savor the warm steam it had retained, wrapping his towel tightly around his body for further warmth. He should have known better than to expect a long and enjoyable shower, surely here at Briggs they limited time so that the water boiler wouldn’t have to overwork, they ran a tight ship. He dried himself and dressed quickly, hanging his head upside down for a moment as he ran the towel through it to dry it. Once he was satisfied he draped the towel over the shower door to dry and returned to the small area for sleeping. It was large enough for just a bed pressed into the back corner, a small table pressed up right beside it with a lamp and clock sat atop. It felt as far from home as he could imagine. With a sigh, he bent over the bed, placing his spent and unfolded clothes back into his duffel bag. He removed his clean uniform from his bag, and hung it on the door to the bathroom so it would be unwrinkled for him to wear the following day. He returned back to sit at the edge of the bed. The bed was hard to sit on, and he sadly thought it would be unpleasant to sleep on, so he zipped his bag, and placed it on the floor beside Riza’s, and pulled the covers over himself, wanting to battle the uncomfortable sleep by getting as much sleep that night as he could force himself to. It wasn’t quite as unpleasant as he had expected, but it made him wish he was in his own bed rather than in a hard cot in the cold north searching for his lost Captain. He set the alarm on the clock for six, and clicked off the light for the night. The only pleasant thing he could offer about the room was the pure unadulterated darkness that it provided for uninterrupted sleep, and he was unable to hear anything but the quiet tick of the clock. Appreciating that, he closed his eyes and tried his hardest to conjure up dreams about anything other than Riza Hawkeye, and how he wasn’t able to do anything to ensure that she has a comfortable night’s sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, I'm excited to have a new chapter up for you! This one has us a bit more informed about what's going on and now poor Roy is a bit less in the dark! I saw a request for more from Riza's POV, and you read my mind- the next chapter will be just that! I hope you enjoyed (:


	6. Ultimatum

Riza was cold- no, she was absolutely freezing. She had never been this cold in her life, her wet uniform clung to her skin, and her wet legs picked up the dirt from the ground coating her in a muddy sludge she despised. She had been sitting on this terrible floor for what she had estimated as roughly an hour, and she was spending all of her time reciting anything she could remember in her head to distract herself from the cold. She recited the poem her mother had written and left in the front cover of a book that she had read thousands of times over as a child, she recited the military handbook from cover to cover, and she recited the first conversation that she had ever had with Roy, it was permanently ingrained in her mind after all these years. He had caught her outside splitting wood on an afternoon that her father had let him have free from studies, completely unaware that he had been living in the same house as her for months. She couldn’t help but crack a slight smile at the memory, he had been so shocked to learn that she had been the one cooking and doing his laundry for him, and she had noticed all of the chores he began to take on after that day as a response to learning that his tutor had a daughter that he was now aware of. She was so immersed in thought that she didn’t notice the footsteps coming down the stairs until the door to her cell was swung open, the blond man stood at the door with his arms full of fabric.

“Hey, listen up, I’m sure you’re cold.” He snickered.

“I suppose one might be cold if they’re doused with water and are kept in a stone holding cell underground in the dead of winter in northern Amestris.” Riza couldn’t help but wittily retort.

“Yeah, whatever.” He said, shutting the door behind him with his foot after dragging a chair just inside the opening, perching himself on it backwards as he faced his prisoner. “I have a clean change of clothes for you, I guarantee they’re better than what you’re wearing, and you can have them if you just listen to me and give me the answers I need.”

Riza was ready to announce that she would absolutely never be giving an enemy confidential information, and she would surely never be giving away any information whatsoever regarding General Roy Mustang, she would rather die. However, she realized she was in a rather awful situation, and if she were to think her way out of this, she would never be able to do so or be able to fight effectively in the wet and freezing uniform she was currently dressed in, so she remained silent. 

“I didn’t expect such immediate compliance.” He snickered. “I always thought Mustang’s men were tougher than this, but I guess all it took was a bucket of water to take you down.”

Riza bit her tongue and hung her head, momentarily refusing to make eye contact with the man who was taunting her. This only seemed to please him further.

“Alright, if you’re so ready to answer. For each question you answer, and answer correctly and honestly, I’ll give you some clothes. Sound like a deal?”

“Fine.” Riza muttered, lifting her chin to look at him squarely. “You have a deal.”

“Good answer.” The man grinned dangerously, throwing a black sock at the woman in the corner of the cell. She picked it up, keeping eye contact, and moved it just out of her reach to where the ground was dry. “Who is Roy Mustang to you?”

“General Mustang is my commanding officer.” She responded simply, an answer any person would know of her without an ounce of research. The matching sock was thrown to her, allowing her a fraction of hope for warmth.

“Not enough, give me more. Who is he to you?” He dangled a pair of wool sweatpants in front of himself.

“Honestly?” She asked, meeting his eyes. “He’s absolutely nothing to me. He’s a job, and someone I have to protect according to my position in the military.” She replies, and earns a cruel grin from the man as the pants fall into a pile atop the pair of socks, filling her with pure relief. Her lying would have to continue, and she would have to be careful about it so she didn’t spin herself a web of lies and end up drenched in the new clothing her captors were offering. 

“Sounds like an ass to me, why do you work for him?” He asked, watching her carefully for anything giving her away in her body language.

“Paycheck.” She replied plainly, apparently satisfying him enough to continue on with his unorthodox interrogation.

“Now, tell me how Mustang learned his flame alchemy.” He asked, amping up the question. 

“I’m not sure.” Riza replied, trying her hardest to come across as truthful. “I’m just a soldier and I don’t understand alchemy much. I know he uses a transmutation circle.” 

“Hm.” The man thought carefully, unsure if he was convinced by her reply. “He never once mentioned where he learned it, or if someone taught him, or if he discovered it himself? He’s still fairly young, there’s no way he’s dedicated enough time to researching it at a young enough age to be proficient enough for what he did in Ishval.”

“I’m sorry, he never has. He’s pretty secretive about how he does what he does. I think he’s just so arrogant that he doesn’t want anyone to copy him.”

“Tsk tsk.” The blond complained, though he did throw a hat at Riza. “Figures the bastard would want to be selfish about it.” Riza waited silently, trying to learn what the man was trying to get her to talk about, and what he may be using the information from her for. “Fine, tell me why he wants to stick his nose back into Ishval after he worked so hard to destroy it.”

“He says he has to right what he has done wrong.” Riza replied, keeping herself sturdy and unbroken, giving only answers that were either incorrect, or in this case, so terribly vague that anyone would be able to figure out without her help.

“Of course he does, trying to play the high and mighty morals game. Everyone just knows he’s trying to get as many people as possible on his side for making himself Fuhrer and forcing that Grumman guy out of the hot seat so he can take it for himself.”

“He is quite ambitious, yes.” Riza replied, after realizing that the man was desiring a response to his statement.

“Well, it’s a real shame that he’s doing the wrong thing in Ishval now, he did what Amestris needed by torching the damn place down, and we’d be better off leaving it that way instead of the shit he’s trying to do there.” He narrowed his eyes, still carefully watching her features for a reaction he never saw. “Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not, frankly I don’t give a damn about Ishval, but I’m required by the military to follow orders. Why do you think I was all the way up here instead of in Central where it isn’t below freezing?” Riza spat back, hoping that the anger would mask her lies well. His response was a cackling laugh, and a sweater being thrown her way into her pile of accumulating clothing.

“Tell me, Riza,” He began, thrilled by seeing her flinch at the use of her first name, “Why do you think we’ve got you here?”

“Well, I’d assume it’s to get at Mustang by taking something that belongs to him. After all, his crew are just objects and tools to him for achieving his bigger mission.” Riza exasperatedly responded. She was working her best to provide answers and a show worthy of receiving the clothing he was taunting her with, glad that she had an entire outfit of not wet clothes now, but afraid he would simply finish this by gathering them back up and leaving her cold and frozen to the ground.

“That’s right, you’re a smart one, I see why he keeps you around.” He grins. “Well, you’re not going anywhere.” He stood throwing a towel her way, which she caught. “Don’t bother to thank me for the clothes, boss didn’t think it was a good idea, but we couldn’t let our hostage just die and lose our edge. This isn’t because we care about you.”

Riza nodded slowly in reply, watching as he started to open the door. “Hope you can sleep tonight now that you’re not dying. You’ll want rest for tomorrow.” He spoke, throwing her off completely as she had previously thought it was some time in the morning, and sending her desperately wondering what he meant about the following day and what it would bring. He grinned, realizing what he had done, and slammed the door roughly behind him. Riza only waited until she heard the door at the top of the steps close before she quickly rose to her feet, and removed her military jacket from her body, discarding it as she rubbed her red-hot skin roughly with the towel to warm it. She made sure to remain facing the door so her scar ridden tattoo was never in view, and pulled the sweater over her head. The gunshot wound on her shoulder made itself very apparent as she stretched the muscle, though she ignored the shooting pain, knowing it would only get worse now that she would no longer be too cold to feel it. Her body responded positively immediately to the cloth that was now wrapped around her as it began to work its magic to warm her. She removed her boots and set them to the side out of the mud puddle her dripping body was creating, and peeled her wet and muddy pants from her legs, following suit by rubbing circulation back into them. She carefully avoided her left thigh where the heel of a boot had been twisted into it, intentionally spending very little time gazing at the blossoming black and a brilliant deep eggplant purple wound that she was sure would soon begin aching alongside her shoulder, as it was now beyond the size of a softball on the most muscular part of her slender thigh. The room was still cold when she peeled away her drenched socks to replace them with the dry pair, but it was significantly more tolerable now that she was no longer covered head to toe in water and mud. She scrubbed her hair roughly with the towel, trying to remove as much water as possible as to bring up her body temperature, knowing that a significant amount of heat was lost through the head. When she was satisfied, she stood and pulled the hat down over her ears, feeling them immediately begin to sting from the sudden warmth. She then squatted, and pulled the insoles from her boots out. They would become significantly less comfortable, but she knew that she would be unable to remove enough water from them to keep her feet from getting wet. She ran the now damp towel through the inside of the boots before pulling them on, wiping off any significant mud from the outside before she dropped the towel atop her ruined uniform in the corner she had once sat in. She lifted her uniform, and removed the star pins from the epaulette that signified her rank. She lifted her sweater and rolled the band of her pants down for a moment as she pinned them into her waistband with the stars against her body. She was sure the enemy holding her hostage would soon visit her cell again, and if they took her uniform away with them she wanted to ensure they were unable to clean it and wear it to pose as an Amestrian soldier. The six shiny stars held her heat well and felt like they were burning into her side, though she wasn’t mad at the sensation, rather glad she was able to feel anything at all after being cold for so long. 

Riza decided that she no longer cared about being able to see out the window of the door for a brief moment before they opened it, and that she would much rather try her best to savor any warmth she could muster. Instead of returning to the muddied corner she was once sitting in, she sat in the corner beside the door, her back to the inside wall was much warmer. She noticed that it also seeped less moisture through as her back remained dry as she leaned against it. She sat where she would be able to see who was entering as they did, rather than sitting behind the door, as she didn’t want to create any conflicts until she was able to carry out her plan. 

She was well aware that Roy knew she was being held hostage, and they had information about where she was prior to her capture, and she hoped that they would be able to gain enough information from that to approximate her location. She had long lost any sense of time, and up until the man leaving the room she was nearly positive that it was morning, though it was impossible to tell from the lack of light she had in the tiny cell. She had no guess any more as to how long she had been here, though she was sure it had been enough time for Roy to begin a plan, and she was positive that Briggs would likely be beginning an investigation searching for her. She knew that the soldiers who were assigned from Eastern command to aid her in the mission were all shot; she wasn’t defending anyone from the enemy other than herself when she herself had been shot. She hoped that their bodies were able to be recovered so that their families were given the ability to grieve with closure. 

As she did every time she was in a bad situation, she found her mind floating back to her time serving in Ishval. The air had been thick with smoke, and her nose had been constantly filled with the noxious, nausea-inducing scent of charred flesh. Her eyes had frequently burned from the sand upturned into the air by battling alchemists, and from people running about. That war had lasted far too long, and was far more atrocious than any Amestrian citizen had imagined or even considered possible. As a sniper, she had ended countless innocent lives, and they plagued her dreams and empty thoughts frequently. War was cruel, and unfair, and unnecessary, and to Riza, being a hostage felt the exact same way. In a way, she was a hostage once before, during the war. She had been held to commit sins and do things that she did not agree with but she had to do to survive, just as she was doing now. She was, as always, under strict orders to not die. So she was doing things and saying things she did not agree with just to survive. Lying about Roy had felt like she was stabbing herself through the chest, but she knew it needed to be done for her to gain clothing that wouldn’t kill her, and to get the enemy to believe she knew far less about him than she did. They didn’t need to know that she had been involved in Ishval herself, or that she was the key to Roy’s alchemy, or that she knew him because he had been an apprentice under her father so many long years ago and that she had trusted him since. She refused to give up Roy and her country, she needed to see to it that he got his goal and that he became the Fuhrer one day. And although it made her terribly guilty, she knew that Roy would never know of the things she said, and if he did he would forgive her without a second thought because it had ensured her own safety. The dumb man.

The dumb man was the person that kept her going each day, and frankly kept her alive. She had never felt as ready to throw her life away as the moment that Lust had said she had killed him. That moment, she had immediately lost all will to live. Her own fate was connected to his with the finest thread, perhaps the thread was made from the fragile silk of a spiders web. If he had died, surely she would have not hesitated to snip the thread and follow him at his side into the beyond, if there was anywhere beyond. She needed to get out of this cell, out of this building, out of the north, to find her way back to his side to be positive that he would never encounter another Lust, Envy, Fuhrer Bradley, or any other rival or opponent alone. She would always be at his side to protect him, or stand in front of him to take the blow if necessary. Riza Hawkeye was absolutely brooding. And thus, she began to think through and devise her plan.

She refused to allow herself to play a damsel in distress at this time. While she was positive Roy and her team were searching for her, likely with General Armstrong and Briggs at his back, she knew that they had absolutely no idea where she was. This was up to her, if she wanted to get out before Roy found her and put himself into the line of fire to save her. She would never forgive herself if he were killed while he was attempting to save her, and she would be too guilty to kill herself to follow him after an entire troop put themselves on the line to save her, and she would be stuck in this terrible life alone without him, and that would absolutely not do. 

She had only spoken to the blond, and he was strange. He was personable, and though he exhibited great hatred for Roy, she could tell that his bringing her clothes was greatly opposed by the other men, he had even said so himself. He was fueled by anger, but she felt she had gotten on his good side by presenting herself as someone who hated Mustang. Surely that was an incredible advantage. If he was the next person into the room, she would try her hardest to flirt and thank him for the clothes and for letting her get warm after such a terrible time in his awful cell. If she played her cards right, she calculated that he would attempt to make a move on her in the way he had kissed her before, and she would easily be able to overpower him to take the key from where it hung on his belt, or to search him for any weapons. If she could get the key, she would lock him in the cell, and would be one guard less, and would be able to sneak about the basement in search for the telephone they had taken when they captured her. She would make the call to Briggs to tell them she was alive and to not let Mustang come find her, and would sneak up the stairs and use whatever means possible to escape. She realized the plan had many faults, but she required even a rudimentary plan in order to sort out her options.

If the large burly man was the next person to enter alone, things would be much more difficult. She wasn’t sure she would be able to fight anyone larger than herself right now, as standing on her deeply bruised leg had sent pangs of pain throughout her whole body, and she knew better than to punch someone when her arm had a hole in it. He would be able to subdue her quickly and she would be in much worse shape than she was currently. If he were to enter, she would have to spend more time in the cell until someone else came, and would just try her best to learn as much from him as she could.

Her best scenario was if the boy with the glasses returned alone, as it was the best suited for success. She would be able to knock him out even in her current condition, and she had seen the slight bulge in his waistband at his right hip that she had been able to assess as being a handgun, perhaps a revolver. If she had a gun in her hands, no matter how many rounds it held, she was positive of her abilities to get out of this place efficiently. If she knocked him out, she would simply take the gun and key, lock the boy in the cell, and slip upstairs to shoot his two comrades. 

Much to her surprise, she heard the stairs creaking again, with extremely heavy stomping footprints. Her spirits fell quickly, realizing that the burly man was the one approaching. He opened the cell door with an anger radiating from him, and immediately grabbed Riza by the collar, shaking her form. “I hear you’ve been feeding my men lies.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said as evenly as she could muster, looking him squarely in the eyes as she challenged him. He dropped her roughly back onto the ground, straightening himself to tower above her.

“Bullshit, I’m not stupid, Riza.” He kicked at her foot, threateningly. “I know everything that you told Rowan, and I know that every single thing you said was a lie.”

Riza held herself together, continuing to keep a firm gaze fixed on the man in front of her. Perhaps he hadn’t realized it, or perhaps it was intentional, but she had just given her the name of one of his comrades. The blond man was Rowan, she mentally stored.

“We aren’t here to play nice, giving you new clothes to play dress up in.” He brooded above her, the air thick with hatred. “I know that you’re Roy Mustang’s bodyguard, but I realize you’ve been at his side for a long time now, eh? Served behind him in the war and all, you go quite a ways back!” He exclaimed in a way that Riza categorized immediately as dangerous. He had something personal here that she could not decipher, and she was watching him lose himself.

“Well, miss adjunct, how does it feel knowing that your precious commanding officer is going to die?” He asked, slamming his boot against her chest, pinning her tightly to the wall behind her. She gasped for air, all of the oxygen leaving her body in combination of a boot pressing into her lungs and in physical response to his question that struck fear deep inside of her. “You’re that worried for him? I thought you told Rowan that you couldn’t stand him? He’s just a boss, eh? I don’t think so, Riza.” He pressed his boot further into her, and she could feel her ribs cracking from the sheer impact. Her vision blurred momentarily until he removed his boot, cursing at her once more. “Well, Riza, I’m happy to inform you that good ol’ Roy Mustang’s men just checked out the address we sent him, and that they were all far too dumb to even consider it being a trap. They’re all dead, but the great courteous General didn’t even go with them, he just willingly sent his entire team to their deaths, for you!”

Riza willed her eyes to not well up with tears, she was wholly unsure if the man was bluffing or if he was being truthful in his rage, but either regard filled her with terror and loss. Roy’s team? Fuery and Havok and Falman and Breda… dead? Surely it was a lie, she knew better than to believe that Roy would allow them to walk right into danger for her. 

“Aha, I see you breaking there honey.” He cooed, the corners of his thin lips turning up into a cocky grin. “Now that we’ve established that I know you’ve been lying, how about we talk for real now.”

“I won’t tell you anything.” Riza firmly responded, all strategies and plans she had conjured up immediately flowing away from her as they were crushed. 

“Oh, that’s not a choice you have.” The man grinned even larger than she had thought possible. He punched her square in the stomach, the air leaving her body in a dull “humph” sound, leaving him utterly satisfied as her form toppled over, her chin falling to hit her knees on the ground as she gripped her hands around her stomach in pain. “Tell me, how did Roy Mustang learn flame alchemy?”

“Why do you want to know.” Riza bravely challenged despite her pain. If she was going to die here she wasn’t going to allow it to be easy for them, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be condemning Mustang to death as well in doing so.

“Well, seeing as you won’t be living long enough to find him, if you must know, we will be using The Flame Alchemist’s alchemy against him, and we will be burning down Ishval once and for all, with him standing right beside the Ishvalans that he should have finished off during the war.” The man spoke, filled with rage, and brought his fist into her injured shoulder, causing her to cry out without having the ability to throttle her pain. “I do believe it’s about time we deliver him another call, no? He stood, and slammed the door behind him with a force that rattled Riza on the floor.

Without the burly man present, she allowed tears to spill over her eyelashes, forcing herself to expel all of her pain through the salty droplets. Her shoulder was screaming in agony, and she was positive he had broken at least a few of her ribs with his boot. The punches had hurt terribly, but she was able to deduce that they had not broken any of her bones, and she was sure she would be in much more pain if he had somehow injured one of her internal organs, so she dismissed the punch to her stomach as grounds for only external bruising. She slid her backside further from the wall and leaned all of her weight in contact with it onto her left shoulder, alleviating the pressure from her injured shoulder. After a few minutes of silent sobs, she wiped the evidence from her face, and rubbed her eyes firmly against her sleeve, banishing any stray tears from falling in the near future. He had said another call was in order, and she desperately began to devise a plan to tell Roy to never try to find her. These men had something she realized was important to him… her. And she could not allow him to risk his life to retrieve her. He would have to leave her behind. Behind. That is what she would say to him somehow. She barely had enough time to sort out her racing, jumbled thoughts, into an understandable code before the meek brown haired man with glasses entered the room with the telephone in tow. 

“Captain Riza Hawkeye.” He addressed her formally in a way that the other men had not, shocking her as she heard him speak much more than they had previously to her. “I’d like you to contact Roy Mustang for me.”

“Why should I?” Riza asked, more softly to this man than she would have to either of the other two. “You’re just going to kill me here, why not allow me to give you the number to phone when I’m dead.”

“Well, having you die would surely take away from Mustang wanting to come find you, there’s no need to retrieve a body.” He said emotionlessly. “I’d like for you to phone him so that we may offer him a deal.”

“What are you offering him?” Riza asked immediately, just to be hushed by the man placing the phone in her hands.

“That is for you to find out when I propose it, and no earlier.” He said again, bringing his body down to her own level to be able to overhear the call he was about to make her make.

“If I do this, will you allow me to speak to him?” She asked, though her question was much closer to a requirement than a question that she would allow a negative response to.

“I suppose so, yes, I don’t expect you’ll ever be seeing him again so allowing you to bid him farewell seems reasonable.” He said, again with so little emotion that Riza was unable to read his intention behind this.

Riza left his gaze, and thought for a moment. She wasn’t sure where Roy was, after all. She dialed the number for Central Command’s main office.

“Good morning, Central Command.” A cheerful voice answered the phone, and Riza didn’t even take the time to recognize that the woman had called it morning, when she had been convinced otherwise. 

“Hello. I need to be connected to General Mustang, immediately.” She spoke, forcing her voice from faltering as she said his name. 

“Do you have a code, we realize you are calling from an outside line.” The voice spoke cheerfully.

“Yes. Ant, Salt, Dodger, Eight, Zero, Zero.” She spoke clearly, and the woman hummed quietly in confirmation of the code. 

“Thank you, Captain Riza Hawkeye. General Mustang is currently not in Central Command Center, may I transfer your call to the call operator in Fort Briggs for you?”

“Yes, please.” Riza spoke, and the woman transferred her call, after a few rings she repeated the process with the call operator of Fort Briggs. After just a moment, a chill ran down her spine as his voice met her ears, filling her chest with pure contentment in knowing he was safe.

“General Mustang.” He spoke, listening closely, he was expecting a call from his men in Hyperborea City. Riza couldn’t help but notice that his voice sounded tired.

“Sir.” She began, immediately hearing Roy inhale sharply. “This is Captain Riza Hawkeye calling from an unknown location.”

“Captain!” He exclaimed breathlessly. “Are you injured? Why are you calling?”

“I’ve been asked to provide a line of contact for communication between my captors and you, Sir.” She said evenly, intentionally not answering his question. She knew he would realize what she was doing by not responding, but she didn’t have the time or willingness to outline her injuries to her superior on what she feared had actual possibility of being the last time she would ever speak to him.

“Hawkeye, are you injured?” He repeated, not bothering to talk about her captors.

“No, Sir.” She responded, though it wasn’t especially convincing. She cleared her throat once, then a second time, very intentionally. She hoped he would recognize. “Sir, remember when we were young and fresh out of academy, that October that we went to West City and saw Annie Nelson in the play that she was playing the lead in?” She asked.

“I do, yes.” Roy responded slowly, signifying that he was aware of what she was doing. “Would you like me to contact Annie for you?”

“Yes please, it’s been so long and I never got to return her jacket, it would mean a lot to me if you would do that for me.” Riza spoke softly. “It was a good coat, I’d hate that it would just go to waste after I’m gone, without as much as a goodbye to Annie.” 

“Captain, right now the last thing you should be worrying about is returning belongings.” Roy spoke in a way she feared was him holding back tears behind his voice, making her own eyes desperate to well up with tears of their own. “I will be sending the team from Briggs to find you, and I swear on my life we will find you, and you will be able to return that coat yourself without having to say goodbye.”

“Sir, I don’t believe I’ll be returning.” She spoke softly, in a way she hoped was able to convey the sadness she felt for him.

“That’s enough of this emotional banter.” The man took the phone from her, and she hung her head sadly, though she was extremely satisfied with her performance. “We’re cutting to the chase now, Mustang.”

“Who is this?” Mustang demanded so loudly that Riza was able to hear the rage in his response.

“That’s quite unimportant, General.” He spoke with such calmness that it made Riza terribly uncomfortable. “We have a bargain, and we’ll only take your response to it within this call, so you better think fast.” Roy’s line remained silent, but he continued on with the statement. “We’ll give your precious subordinate back, if you give us your secret to flame alchemy. I’d be happy to schedule this little exchange immediately, if you agree.”

“And if I don’t?” Mustang challenged, though Riza was sure he knew what the ultimatum would be.

“Well, I hear from Captain Hawkeye that you’re up in Briggs now, I trust you’re enjoying our beautiful northern weather. I’d be more than happy to ship her body there rather than to Central, if you’d prefer to see her sooner. Otherwise, sending it to Central would work just as well.”

“What are you saying.” Mustang spoke firmly and angrily.

“The secrets of flame alchemy in exchange for the life of your Captain. It’s up to you, but you best choose quickly and wisely, Mustang, I haven’t got all day.” He spoke smugly, knowing the answer would very easily be that he would choose the life of his Captain.

“Fine.” Mustang’s reply came over the phone after a short moment of deliberation, his voice gravelly and angry. Riza felt her heart stop in her chest, and she felt ready to drive the bullet through her own heart at that moment if it would stop him from putting his life on the line to save her. “Tomorrow. Noon. Frigid City, the village just east of the one you captured our Captain from. We will meet you in the town center.”

“Weaponless.” The boy with the glasses demanded firmly, his authority over the situation obvious through the call.

“If we must, then you must as well.” Mustang required, and after a moment, continued. “We will come, without weapons. Myself and one navigator. And if you also are weaponless, then we shall make the trade. Fair.”

“It’s a deal, Hero of Ishval.” The boy sneered at the title. “Tomorrow, noon.”

“Noon.” Mustang spoke firmly in confirmation.

The boy ended the call, giving Riza a look of achievement. “Tomorrow it is, little bird. You’ll fly free, right back into Mustang’s cage, Captain Hawkeye.” He gathered up the phone, and locked the door of the cell behind him. Riza drew her knees to her chest, and despite how painful it was, she wrapped her arms around them to bury her face into her knees for a sense of comfort and warmth in the terribly cold stone room, no matter how little it was able to provide her. She had no power over what was happening, and she knew that tomorrow was going to be nothing but a battlefield. Roy would turn up with one fellow soldier, and one of the three men would shoot her right in front of him so he could watch her die. Then they would either kill him as well, or force him to teach him his terrible brand of alchemy. Riza wept softly into her knees, her firm façade shattering into tiny shards around her. In just over twenty four hours, she would be seeing Roy again, surely. As sure as she was of that, she was also extremely hesitant to believe it would not be the last time she would ever see him. And she was not ready to see the look on his face when the trigger was pulled on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the chapter from Riza's perspective (and the longest chapter yet!), I hope that you guys enjoyed it! I couldn't help but sprinkle in a little Maes Hughes reference, did anyone catch it? Next up is more from Roy, as this story is progressing so quickly I hope that the following chapters will come out just as quickly as the last couple have- I'm writing as much as I can to get it out for y'all to read!!


	7. Unforgiveable

Roy awoke from a dreamless night to the terribly shrill cry of his screaming alarm clock, immediately turning it off with an open palmed smack. He groaned once, stretching his back as he sat up, slightly sore from the night of sleep on a bed much harder than he was used to. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his location blurred into reality, reminding him that he was currently within the walls of Briggs, searching for his lost Captain. He went to the bathroom and splashed his face with warm water, gazing at himself for a moment in the metal mirror. He ran his hand over his cheeks and jawline as he dried his face, taking notice of the whiskers beginning to poke through his skin. He hadn’t taken any time for grooming or self care over the past few days, and he felt far less professional than usual, though he decided that he didn’t especially care. He removed the uniform from where he had hung it, dutifully dressing and taking a moment to be sure he had properly adjusted the garments. He pulled his boots on, disliking how tightly they fit over his ankles now that he was wearing thick woolen socks, and draped his jacket over his arm before leaving the room. He took a moment to lock the door behind him, and unlocked the door to his makeshift office just down the hall. His jacket was soon dumped into the chair in the corner as he switched on the light, and after he remembered the board behind him where he had written location ideas before he had gotten more information from General Armstrong. He swiped it clean with the eraser, making mental notes to thank General Armstrong properly as soon as his Captain was safe; as much as they didn’t typically get along, he was incredibly grateful for how much she had given for him in this mission. The phone had rung at 6:50, and he briefly questioned why his team was ten minutes early, he had never known them to do anything early, though he was sure their mentality was different now that it was their Captain who was in trouble.

He curiously raised the phone to his ear, ready to gain as much information as possible from Havok’s team. “General Mustang,” he spoke gruffly into the speaker.

“Sir.” A voice met his ears, sending him into absolute shock, freezing at the word. “This is Captain Riza Hawkeye calling from an unknown location,” she spoke again. His heart was racing so quickly he was sure it was going to explode from his chest. Surely this was not good, they were making her do this, he could tell simply from how she was speaking. She was trying too hard to keep her voice even, and he was positive she was injured, as if he wasn’t positive before that they would surely attempt to interrogate her, but he couldn’t help but feel like he could suddenly breathe again after hearing her voice.

“Captain!” He all but shouted, relief spilling through the speaker even though he knew that the situation was likely bad. “Are you injured? Why are you calling?”

“I’ve been asked to provide a line of contact for communication between my captors and you, Sir.”

If his heart was beating out of his chest before, his blood was now at the boiling point, bubbling red-hot through his veins and steaming out his mouth. She had avoided his questions, and he was desperate for a response. “Hawkeye, are you injured?” He asked again, much more deliberately, nearly ignoring her response to why she was calling.

“No, Sir.” She said, and he could distinguish the lie without a second thought. He heard her clear her voice, then she cleared it again. Quickly, he fished a pen and pad of paper from the desk, scrambling about, knowing she was going to speak only out of intention.“Sir, remember when we were young and fresh out of academy, that October that we went to West City and saw Annie Nelson in the play that she was playing the lead in?”

His pen flew at a million miles a minute as he noted the words she had ever so slightly emphasised. Remember, R. October, O. West City, W. Annie, A. Nelson, N. R-O-W-A-N, he scribbled rapidly before responding. “I do, yes.” He spoke slowly, signifying through his inflection that he had gotten her message, though he wasn’t sure of it’s meaning quite yet. Would you like me to contact Annie for you?”

“Yes please, it’s been so long and I never got to return her jacket, it would mean a lot to me if you would do that for me.” Riza spoke softly enough that Roy could hear his heartbeat in his ears. “It was a good coat, I’d hate that it would just go to waste after I’m gone, without as much as a goodbye to Annie.” Roy pressed his eyes tightly closed as he willed himself to allow no tears to spill, realizing that she was, yet again, trying to tell him goodbye.

“Captain, right now the last thing you should be worrying about is returning belongings. I will be sending the team from Briggs to find you, and I swear on my life we will find you, and you will be able to return that coat yourself without having to say goodbye.” His fists gripped the edge of the desk so tightly that his knuckles began to turn white. Fuery entered the room, and immediately shut the door behind him upon seeing his superior so frustrated and angry, realizing nearly immediately that the call he was on was most definitely not from their team.

“Sir, I don’t believe I’ll be returning.” She spoke, and he flew upwards, his fist connecting with the stone wall, just hard enough for him to feel like he was getting anger out of his system. Before he could get another word in, a male’s voice met him. This voice was different from the one he had spoken to before. It was more methodical, less loud and booming and angry.

“That’s enough of this emotional banter. We’re cutting to the chase now, Mustang.”

“Who is this?” Mustang demanded, his voice hot on his own cheek as it bounced off of the phone. His hand held the pen so tightly that Fuery feared it would burst.

“That’s quite unimportant, General.” He spoke calmly, only enraging Roy further. “We have a bargain, and we’ll only take your response to it within this call, so you better think fast. We’ll give your precious subordinate back, if you give us your secret to flame alchemy. I’d be happy to schedule this little exchange immediately, if you agree.” Roy furrowed his brow in shock and confusion. Surely this entire ordeal was not some enemy wanting flame alchemy for themselves. He couldn’t help but ponder the cruel irony of them having his own knowledge of flame alchemy under their own hands. Their first request had been him going to some strange address that they surely knew by now that his team had visited and not him, and they were bringing forth plans quickly. And that did not look good for his Captain. 

“And if I don’t?” He challenged, unwilling to show his defeat and willingness immediately.

“Well, I hear from Captain Hawkeye that you’re up in Briggs now, I trust you’re enjoying our beautiful northern weather. I’d be more than happy to ship her body there rather than to Central, if you’d prefer to see her sooner. Otherwise, sending it to Central would work just as well.”

“What are you saying?” He demanded, though he knew precisely what threat was being made.

“The secrets of flame alchemy in exchange for the life of your Captain. It’s up to you, but you best choose quickly and wisely, Mustang, I haven’t got all day.”

“Fine.” He spoke as evenly as he could muster. This would be organized by him though, and he thought quickly on the fly as he orchestrated his plan. Fuery leaned in, the fear evident on his face as he heard General Mustang continue. “Tomorrow. Noon. Frigid City, the village just east of the one you captured our Captain from. We will meet you in the town center.”

“Weaponless.” The voice required, and Mustang lowered his head to his chin, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“If we must, then you must as well.” Mustang required. “We will come, without weapons. Myself and one navigator. And if you also are weaponless, then we shall make the trade. Fair.”

“It’s a deal, Hero of Ishval.” The boy spoke firmly. “Tomorrow, noon.”

“Noon.” Mustang replied, placing the phone back on the receiver after it went dead. He spent just a moment thinking before he swiped everything off of his desk with one hand, spinning around and running his fingers through his hair roughly. He wanted to scream and shout and burn everything he could imagine down. Fuery was speaking to him, asking what was happening and what was going on, but they fell on deaf ears as Roy fumed. “Contact General Armstrong.” He interrupted Fuery’s worry. “Get her here, now.” 

“Yes, Sir!” Fuery responded, rapidly pressing the button on the office’s phone that put one through to the operator at Briggs, where he requested to speak to Armstrong. She answered before even one ring was complete, and Fuery quickly explained that she was needed, and immediately. She didn’t bother to scold Fuery at the lack of titles or his ordering around his superior, she simply hung up, heading down the hallways quickly.

She entered the office three short minutes after the call, and met Fuery’s eyes before looking towards General Mustang standing facing the wall, radiating anger.

“Tell me what is occurring- now.” She demanded, and Roy turned, his face red in a way that she imagined was only from pure hatred, or from tears that he had not allowed to be shed, or perhaps both. He explained the entire phone call to her, and she sat on the chair in the corner of the room, sitting at the edge to avoid knocking off the two coats propped upon it. “Noon, you said?”

“Yes.” Roy answered, collapsing back into his chair.

“So we hold a siege.” Armstrong spoke calmly and decisively, freezing Fuery in his steps towards the chair at the desk.

“We what?” He asked quickly, sitting down and turning his body to hers.

“They’re expecting us at noon tomorrow, so they think we’re defeated and in agreement with the General. So we hold a siege, preferably under the cover of night, tonight. They won’t see us coming, we perform recon, and retrieve the Captain. Ideally we arrest her captors, but we shoot to kill if necessary, the life of an important military officer is at stake.” Armstrong said, the paper gripped tightly in Roy’s hand becoming a point of her interest. “What is that?”

“She gave me a coded message, when she spoke to me. It spells out Rowan.” Roy answered, the phone interrupting him. He glanced at Armstrong, who nodded once before he answered, praying silently that it wasn’t another call from his Captain’s captors with far grimmer news.

“General Mustang.” He spoke firmly, expectantly.

“Hey boss!” Second Lieutenant Jean Havok’s usually cheerful voice brought Mustang an immense wave of relief. “You sound mad, what’s going on?”

“Nevermind that for a moment, what is your report from Hyperborea City?” Mustang responded, pressing a button on the base of the phone, putting it into speakerphone mode. “You’re on speaker, General Armstrong and Sergeant Fuery are present.”

“Hello, Sirs.” Havok greeted, continuing with his report. “My team investigated the city and got a little bit of information. The town is friendly and hospitable, and we had no suspicious interactions with anyone we spoke with. We investigated the warehouse district as a whole, and then went in and visited the specific address you sent us for. From the outside, it appears to be a normal warehouse, but inside is a different story.”

“What was found, Lieutenant?” Armstrong was the one who spoke.

“Inside we found some significant information about what appeared to be a hub for Drachman spies, though we aren’t convinced that’s true. The information outlined about Drachma is extremely vague, and the things they left behind don’t confirm they were actually from Drachma, all of the belongings that are still here appear to be Amestrian in make. We spoke to a local vendor about the area, and she did clue us in on some gang activity in this area, and when we asked if she thought they were Drachman, she was quite confused. She said she had been asked to cater one of their gatherings, and the entire event was basically a hate-fest towards Ishval and General Mustang for wanting to rebuild it.” Havok took a breath, allowing a moment for the opposite end of the line to digest the information. “We’ve brought the woman into our custody, and are offering her protection until this case is concluded, for her own safety and also to ensure that she isn’t leaking this information elsewhere or sending it to our targets, but I’m inclined to feel she is being truthful.”

“So, they’re anti-Ishvalans with a base up North to avoid detection from Central, and causing a ruckus about it and making some threats was enough for us to send a team up here. I’m sure they weren’t expecting that I’d send Hawkeye, and that was the perfect time to swoop in and make an attack directly upon me by capturing my Captain. The man on the phone earlier did call me the hero of Ishval, and it definitely wasn’t well meaning.” Roy brainstormed aloud, knowing that kicking himself for asking her to handle this wasn’t appropriate at the moment. “I understand their motives now, at the very least.”

“Wait, boss, another phone call?” Havok interrupted abruptly, just for Armstrong to continue the prior conversation dutifully.

“Was there anything else of significance in the warehouse?” Armstrong spoke again.

“Not especially, Ma’am. It was mostly cleared of belongings, it nearly looked unused. I can’t promise that nobody noticed us visiting the district, since there are quite a few other warehouses in the area, but we didn’t encounter anyone directly. I wouldn’t doubt that these people had someone positioned nearby to see if General Mustang was the one who arrived, though, so I wouldn’t be so sure that the only men taking part in this are those who are directly holding Captain Hawkeye hostage. None of us noticed anything awry, but there are too many places in that part of town to hide for us to have checked them all.”

“Very well, thank you for the report, Lieutenant.” Mustang replied. “Please keep the vendor informant in your custody until this case is concluded.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Lieutenant, I’d prefer you to report to Fort Briggs with your men and the informant, I’ll send someone to come for you. That way you’ll be up North should we require another mission, and you won’t need to remain in Hyperborea drawing attention to yourselves.” General Armstrong took command.

“Yes, Sir, that will do well.” Havok replied, “I’ll bring the vendor to her home to gather some belongings to go, and my men and I will be at the train station awaiting your arrival.”

“Very good, thank you for your report, Lieutenant.” Mustang responded, hanging up the phone. He wrung his hands, forcing himself to not be overwhelmed at the amount of activity happening at once. Armstrong took it upon herself to remove the phone from Mustangs reach, and immediately phoned her transportation unit to give them orders to immediately retrieve Mustang’s men from Hyperborea City, followed by phoning the secretary at the main gate to prepare a comfortable room for the informant that would be briefly staying.

“We have all of today to devise a complete plan and to learn what or who Rowan is, and to design this siege.” Roy spoke after she completed her call, formulating in his head how to handle the necessary task.

“Yes.” Armstrong replied, her voice returning to its firm authoritative state as she took charge of the condition. “If she felt the need to encode it, this likely will be significant in our search. I’ll arrange for a couple of my most trusted men to join us on this mission, and we will report at eleven together to discuss our plans. Your men from Hyperborea will arrive with plenty of time to join us. My brother will be able to sufficiently oversee operations here so I can join.”

“Yes.” Mustang replied, finding few words necessary in their exchange. He was confident that he would be capable of single handedly destroying everything and anyone who had done Hawkeye wrong, but he couldn’t help but feel comforted knowing his own team would be present. He had formed his team intentionally, he trusted each and every officer fully, and knowing that they had his back held much value to him, along with the ever capable General Armstrong being at his side. “Something tells me that Rowan is a person.”

“What makes you think so?” Armstrong inquires, raising one eyebrow as she stood, joined by Fuery.

“I just have a feeling, not sure. She presented the coded information as if she were speaking of an old friend, so I think she may have been using that to give me as much information at once as possible.” He spoke, standing as well. He gathered his own jacket into his arms, handing Fuery his, and headed down the hallway beside the commander of Briggs.

“Fair enough, we’ll pull property documents, perhaps Captain Hawkeye gave you the information because he is the one in charge, if so I’m sure that the property belongs to him rather than his comrades. If we’re lucky, property on that road we spotted before belongs to a Rowan.” Armstrong said and began walking rapidly as the other two tried their best to keep up. Armstrong rounded a few corners, the group remained silent as they spent their energy trying to keep up with the fast paced General. Eventually, she entered an archival room, and greeted the man at the desk, who quickly stood and saluted.

“Good morning, General Armstrong, Sir! Hello, General Mustang and Sergeant Fuery! How may I help?” He spoke, releasing his salute as Armstrong waved it away as she stepped up to the large map hung on the wall behind the secretary’s desk. 

She traced her finger south of Briggs until she met the unnamed village Riza had been stationed at, succinctly named “VILLAGE” on the map, and moved her finger rightward just a bit until it hit the first village to the east of it, despite being known to locals as Frigid City, the map had also simply labelled it“VILLAGE,” unfortunate for the group. “I need all property records for this village.” She commanded, and the archival secretary looked at the map further for just a moment.

“That’s categorized in our records as Village 221, I’ll have all property records procured shortly!” He bobbed his head and disappeared into the room to the right, the door swinging shut and latching behind him. The three officers took it upon themselves to make themselves comfortable in the few chairs in the room that weren’t stacked tall with books, cozying in for the time being. Quite a bit of time passed, and Mustang felt himself growing antsy, and Armstrong appeared to be quite irritated by the wait. Fuery had noticed a stack of documents had fallen over in the corner, and had busied himself with fixing the stack for the secretary. After what felt like an eternity, the man returned with a file. “My apologies for the wait.” he slightly bowed, and handed General Armstrong the file. “I’d be happy to copy any papers for you to take with you!”

“Thank you.” She responded, opening the file and running her eyes through all of the reports and maps of specific property lines. The village itself was small, but it wasn’t quite what she was looking for. She located the road that the body had been found on, and at the very end, there were five distinct properties outlined. She removed the next sheet from the file folder, locating the owner information for the corresponding lot numbers she had located on the map. The first two properties were government owned, the third was vacant, and the fourth was owned by a woman named Violet. Finally, she located the final lot number, and she gave Mustang a rare smile. “Bingo.”

“What did you find?” Roy asked breathlessly, joining at her side quickly. He read the document, and Armstrong dropped one finger on the map lot, and another on the ownership information. Right before his eyes in black ink was the only thing that mattered to him, and it answered his question. He thanked God, or Truth, or whoever, for gifting Riza with such incredible intelligence and for her ability to relay the information to him through a nondescript phone conversation. The page read ‘Leontine Rowan.’ “Rowan.” He said without thinking. “This has to be it.”

“What a fool to have slipped up and shared his name to his captive.” Armstrong tched. “I do believe we now have a specific address for our siege.” She turned to the secretary as she gathered the papers back to the file, and handed him the map with property lines, requesting he photocopy it for her. He did so quickly, and she gave him the file back to return to the archive. Borrowing a pen, she began at the bottom left edge of the paper on the road leading into Village 221, following it just beyond the town center, and up the road heading northeast. Landing at the end of the road, she placed a crude X over the building on the property owned by Rowan. 

“Now we have a location. So let us draft the plan.” Mustang spoke, his being filling with the excitement of having a true lead and answer to this situation. 

“Your team should be arriving in an hour or so, since the weather conditions are extremely clear we’re lucky to be able to move quickly to retrieve them. I presume you’d like them all present?” Armstrong asked, and Mustang returned with a firm nod. “Very well, I’ll be joining, and I’ll bring two of my own men, that will take us to eight men. It’s a bit large for a covert mission but I have faith in our abilities. Allow me to get in contact with my men, it would be best to design this plan with everyone taking part in the mission present.”

Roy desperately wanted to tell the woman no, that the person on the line here was Riza, and that they weren’t able to lose any more time in this than they already have, but he knew that the easiest way to be sure everyone was on the same page was to make sure they were all there for the planning process. The last thing he wanted was for an error to occur because of their own foolishness or reckless planning that would end in his Captain being killed. “Yes, I agree.” He was devastated however, at the now hour of open time he would have to spend questioning everything he was doing, and blaming himself for what was happening to his Captain. The amount of time that had passed since Havok had phoned was far longer than it had felt, the entire morning had felt like a blur. 

“I see that Central sent you with winter gear, but it simply won’t do for our winters. The uniform division is on the lowest level of the fort, please see to it that you and Sergeant Fuery visit it and are fitted with proper gear, and retrieve gear for your team, their sizing should be in the registry.” Armstrong said, offering a wave from an arm stretched over her shoulder as she made her way down the halls to contact the men she needed for this mission.

Roy was left facing Fuery, who appeared to be fueled by sudden excitement and positivity. Roy was just glad to have a task to fill the open hour of time with so he didn’t feel so intensely useless. “We’re going to get her back, boss!” He ensured, prodding the button for the lowest level the elevator offered. They were startled by the speed the elevator suddenly dropped at, the doors opening just seconds after they closed, and they stepped out into the hallway. The efficiency of Fort Briggs would never cease to amaze Central City soldiers. Finding an available officer in the halls, they were soon pointed in the right direction, and entered the uniform office. Roy and Kain were given Briggs sanctioned thick winter uniform jackets, matching snow pants designed to insulate heat, tall waterproof fur-lined winter boots, and gloves and hats embroidered with the Amestrian crest. They were given a box, and within it they gathered the matching uniform sets for Lieutenant Havok, Lieutenant Falman and Lieutenant Breda. Just when they thought they had gathered everything and had turned to leave, realization struck Roy, and he requested a uniform for Captain Hawkeye, and the officer obliged, adding it to the box that was growing heavy quickly. The officer offered Roy a wheeled cart to place it on, and just requested he have a Briggs soldier bring it back when possible. Thanking him heavily, the two returned back to the halls, and brought the uniforms up to Armstrong’s office, leaving it with her adjunct. They then decided it would be important to eat, and Roy wanted nothing more than a cup of coffee, even knowing that the coffee in Briggs was nationally known to be terrible. They ate a brief meal in the mess hall, the coffee just as bad as they imagined, and returned to sit in Armstrong’s office. She arrived shortly after they did, with two officers in tow.

“General Mustang and Sergeant Fuery, these are First Lieutenant Emery and Second Lieutenant Bollen.” She introduced each briefly. Lieutenant Emery was a woman of short stature and a fuzzy buzzed hairstyle, and Lieutenant Bollen was a muscular man a head taller than Mustang, sporting a long beard that surely helped fight the chill of the northern weather. He greeted each with a nod, and Armstrong continued. “Emery is a trusted member of my team, as is Bollen. Bollen will be serving as our navigator, while I know the area well, Bollen is extremely familiar with the area and navigating, and having someone in charge of our navigation will be valuable.” Roy nodded immediately in agreement, knowing well that he was nowhere near familiar enough to head this operation directionally, only knowing the area from the maps he had viewed. 

Armstrong’s phone rang, and just as she had in the morning, answered it without allowing the first ring to finish. The call was brief, and she informed the room that Mustang’s team was arriving. She sat at her desk, and waved her hand at the two men from Central. “Go ahead and get them and bring them up here, I’m going to fill my officers in in the meantime. Please see to it that their informant is taken to the secretary near the front gate, they’ll get her situated for the meantime.”

Roy felt like he was running down the halls, though Fuery was right at his side, so surely that wasn’t true. Everything felt as if it was moving so quickly and racing around him at the speed of light. He was thankful that he had regained his eyesight thanks to Doctor Marcoh, otherwise he feared he would be absolutely useless in this entire situation, especially in the navigation of the halls of Briggs, which he felt he was catching on to surprisingly quickly. They were soon at the main gate, watching a shiny military vehicle arrive, matching the one that had brought himself and Fuery into the fort what now felt like months ago. After it parked, out came Breda and Havok, and Falman helped a small elderly woman from the car gentleman-ly and politely. Armstrong exited the vehicle last, the typical glittering of his figure missing, and he made a beeline into the building to locate his beloved sister to ask what she required of him. Havok was immediately at Roy’s side, grabbing the shoulder of his best friend in a mixture of comfort and desperation.

“Please tell me you’ve found her.” He asked, nearly begging. He realized just as much as everyone else, if not more, how much Hawkeye meant to his best friend. Hell, he wanted nothing more than to get her back, she was a phenomenal soldier and an even better friend, and he knew that she had something with the General that they would never dare say to a single soul. He couldn’t imagine how Roy was holding it together, he would surely be destroyed if this was happening to Rebecca, and the reaction Roy was giving was not that.

“Kind of.” He said, taking a breath of the cold air. “Let’s get inside, and I’ll explain everything, I promise.” He then met Falman and Breda, and introduced himself to the woman warmly with a handshake, thanking her for her valuable information. He ushered the group into the building, bringing the woman to the secretary that Armstrong had told him to visit, and left her with a wave as she was kindly cared for. After they were out of earshot, Mustang’s team exploded in conversation and question.

“What’s going on?” Breda asked hopefully, seeing the mix of positivity and concern on Fuery’s face.

“Listen, men. I’ve obtained proper winter wear for the north, and we will be departing in the night, tonight, to retrieve Captain Hawkeye. It is currently in General Armstrong’s office, I’ll be issuing it immediately upon arrival. I received a phone call from Captain Hawkeye this morning just before you called, and have discovered new information from your mission and from Hawkeye herself that has allowed us to approximate her location. Her captors arranged to meet with me tomorrow at noon to exchange Hawkeye for the research for flame alchemy. General Armstrong and I have arranged to hold siege tonight, when they will not be expecting our arrival. General Armstrong will be accompanying us with two of her men, and this is a mission that we cannot afford to lose, so I am bringing you with me. That is an order.” He asked, making eye contact with each soldier individually for just a moment. They all snapped into position, their heels together and their hands raised to their foreheads in a firm salute.

“Yes, Sir!” Their voices echoed down the endless gray halls, and Roy nodded firmly, still finding it strange to see his men so serious and firm.

“Good.” He spoke, leading them to the elevator, then to Armstrong’s office. After a curt knock, they entered, and followed through her office to the large tabled meeting room. Each officer took a seat, Roy taking the one directly to General Armstrong’s right.

“It’s time we create a plan. The siege is tonight.” Armstrong began, and all of the men listened carefully as she listed her plans, Roy joining occasionally for input and additions. The team left the room filled with both information and determination. Their orders were to rest and to eat lunch, and then dinner. After dinner, they would be suiting up for the northern winter, and departing on their mission as the sun fell under the horizon. Tonight, they would regain their Captain.

The hours slid by like eternities, Roy and his team had eaten lunch immediately following the meeting, and had then found themselves gathered in Roy’s room, additional chairs dragged in from the office down the hall, and Roy and Havok sat upon the hard bed. They sat in silence for far too long, offering each other comfort in their solidarity. Minutes melted into hours of glum concurrence, and finally, Havok broke the silence. The sound of something as simple as a voice in the room they had only listened to the ticking of a clock in was jarring, and all eyes fell on him.

“Come on, let’s go.” Havok repeated, realizing that everyone had heard but nobody had understood. “Let’s take a walk before dinner, I think we could use it. Moping and worrying about what could happen isn’t going to help us.” He stood, and when Mustang didn’t immediately join him, he prodded his superior to stand, his fellow officers joining him. He led the way out confidently, then eventually let Falman lead, since he had the most experience with the fort after having spent some time here when Fuhrer Bradley had forced Mustang’s team across the Amestrian map to separate them. Falman led them to the empty roof, where he had once spent his time knocking down icicles with the Elric brothers. The crew stood, and eventually, Falman thrust icepicks into the hands of each of them. 

“A little work never hurts.” He shrugged, beginning to chip away at the ice. “We might as well make ourselves useful around here anyways, it’s the Briggs way.” Without any disagreement or arguing typical of the group, they all began to chip away at the icicles as well. They were all individually grateful at the need to do something, anything, to keep them busy. After a good hour's worth of work, the men discarded their icepicks in their dedicated box, and wandered to the mess hall in hope of a hearty meal to fuel the mission looming just long enough away to cause them to begin to worry. They scarfed down their meals, and everyone but Mustang went back to his room. He went to General Armstrong’s office, and retrieved the cart and box of winter uniforms, and wheeled it to the elevators and into his room. One by one, the team took turns changing into their warm uniforms in the tiny Briggs bathroom, stuffing gloves and hats into their pockets and draping the heaviest outer coat over their arms to carry as to not overheat while still indoors. After they’d all changed and had begun to head to the door, Mustang halted them all.

“Thank you all for being here and for serving on this mission.” He spoke firmly. “I have two orders. Retrieve Captain Hawkeye. And do not die.”

“Yes, Sir!” their voices echoed gently around the small room.

“We’re gonna bring her back, boss.” Havok said, and they were all off down the hall, engaging in their usual banter that had been missing the past several hours as they silently considered the upcoming mission, and how important it was to win. Soon, the group was in Armstrong’s office, and her two Briggs soldiers followed them in. Armstrong rose from her desk to speak briefly.

“Are you all ready to depart?” She asked, earning “Yes Sir”’s in response. “We’ll be travelling majority of the distance by foot, the trucks will drop us off a few miles out from the village so we don’t draw any attention to ourselves, then we’ll hike into the village, then the four mile trail to the address we’ve pinpointed Captain Hawkeye’s location to. We’ll further assess the situation on location, and hold siege. The entire aim of this mission is to retrieve Captain Hawkeye safely, your orders for her captors are to capture only if absolutely accessible, if not, shoot to kill. I’ve gathered all necessary weaponry and they’re stored in the vehicle for travel, you’ll each be issued firearms as we leave and begin our trek.” 

“Captain Hawkeye is likely heavily injured, and will need assistance leaving the facility. I’ve spoken individually to two different men holding her captive, but we have no way of knowing how many people are holding her and are guarding the location. Keep your eyes on the mission and do not expect for this to be an easy fight.” Mustang spoke, and the group resounded with another round of “Yes Sir”’s. 

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the team was loaded into the truck, and speeding southeast from Fort Briggs towards Frigid City, or “VILLAGE,” as the map had called it. Somehow, after such a long day of waiting, the long drive felt like it was just moments long, and the soldiers were all pulling their heavy jackets on, and fitting themselves with their hats and gloves. General Mustang adjusted a sack across his back, holding the uniform they had gotten for Captain Hawkeye, knowing she would require the protection of at least a jacket once they found her, since she would need to return with the team to the truck. They exited the truck, slinging shotguns over their shoulders, and adding handguns to the holsters on their hips. Once they were sufficiently armed, Bollen took the head of the group, and Armstrong took the rear. They formed a single file line to move efficiently on the narrowing roads, Mustang directly behind Bollen, followed by Fuery, Havok, Breda, and Falman, then Emery and Armstrong. The hike to the town was fairly short, and the trucks that had left them were quickly out of sight as the sun had fully set, though they knew that the trucks had remained there to take them back to Briggs after the completion of the mission. 

Despite the distance being short, the gentle snowfall and quick whipping wind carried chill into the uncovered faces of the soldiers. Small snowflakes gathered on eyelashes and eyebrows, and their rhythmic breath crsytalized in the air just beyond their noses and mouths. Perhaps if the mission were not so grim and worrisome, Mustang may have considered the beauty of land covered by shimmering snow. The temperature was unforgivably cold, especially to the Central City soldiers who were not used to the piercing nature of northern winter. Mustang grew more worried and concerned with every step, fearing that even being indoors in this weather would be intolerably cold, and he feared what that meant for his Captain.

Instead of leading the group directly through town to access the road they needed, Emery led the group around the outskirts, out of sight of any potential spies within the village. He was well trained, and skillfully practiced, and he had no hiccups in his navigation to the road. They travelled the first quarter mile or so along the side of the road in the cover of trees, then continued on the path once they were out of sight from town. The group travelled silently aside from their footsteps crunching in the snow, and the sound of their breathing. The road provided more traction than the treeline, and their pace naturally quickened at the lessened resistance. Each breath froze in the air, and each footstep brought the men closer to battle. Having completed roughly three miles, per Bollen’s estimate, the group returned to the sheltered treeline to complete the final mile or so in cover. Tension grew, and each man began to ensure that their weapons were within a second’s reach. Soon, the small battalion was able to see the contrast of smoke rising in the black sky, and they slowed their pace to decrease their noise as they closed in. At the edge of the trees, Mustang held a fist above his head, barely visible to the men in the dim moonlight, and they all came to a halt behind him. Armstrong joined him at the front, and Bollen settled into a space behind the two leaders. They spoke in hushed whispers.

“The cabin at two o’clock is our target, yes?” Mustang inquired, though he recognized the layout of the land from the map of properties he had seen earlier.

“Yes, all of the other properties aside from the house at nine o’clock are uninhabited.” Armstrong replied, her right hand resting on the stock of her handgun, and her left resting on the hilt of her sword. Mustang had a holster on his right hip with a gun, but everyone on the team knew to expect smoke and flames at this standoff, his gloves had long been discarded, shoved into his pockets.

“We approach the house from it’s side, not the front.” Armstrong began, earning a nod from Mustang. “I’ll take Emery, Havok, and Breda, we’ll continue around to the far side of the building we cannot see, you take Bollen, Fuery, and Falman, and stay posted at the visible side of the house. I’ll await your signal, and we’ll attack simultaneously with all we have, while we still have the element of surprise.” The men split up amongst themselves, positioning themselves behind the General leading their party. Together the two groups slipped soundlessly through the night, and across the dreadfully open space between the safety of the woods and the perimeter of the house. Immediately upon flattening their backs on the near side, Armstrong’s group silently travelled to the other side, doing the same. Mustang allowed himself to let out a breath he had been holding, and closed his eyes, carefully trying to listen and observe everything he possibly could before the firefight began. Along the wall, he was positioned furthest from the front door, and he realized that was disadvantageous for audial reasons. After a few minutes, Mustang felt as if time had frozen. He didn’t want to barge into anything too quickly and create a hazardous condition for Hawkeye, but he also didn’t want to spend too much time staking out the situation and let the sun begin to rise. They needed to create a way to get the men out of the house. He knew barging in the front door was asking for death, and if he burned the building, Hawkeye would be trapped inside. After a moment of thought, he began to orchestrate his plan, until a pair of headlights caught his eyes. They were heading down the road, towards the house. Without time to hide, Roy ushered his men around the side of the building to the back out of site, but it wasn’t fast enough. The car sped towards the house, and a man exited it, sending bullets towards Mustang’s team, embedding into and ricocheting off of the side of the house. In just a second’s time, all of the lights in the house were on, and the entire mission was no longer a mission of stealth, but simply a mission of survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, sorry for the time gap in between uploads, this was an intense chapter to write and I wanted to be positive all of the details were just right! Chapter 8 is done and should be up in a couple days after a few finishing touches!


	8. Blizzard

When Mustang had chosen to learn alchemy, it had come completely out of the blue. He was living with his Aunt Chris after his parents had passed away, and from a young age he was intrigued by the seeming magic of alchemy that he frequently saw around the large city. He borrowed elementary level alchemy books and alchemic dictionaries from the library at school, and once he outgrew them and learned all of the content from the minimalist section in the school library, he began walking to Central City’s library after school instead of going directly home. He had learned much from his time in the bright library, sitting at tables where his feet didn’t reach the ground, taking notes in stacks of notebooks that were quickly filled and became taller than he was when he was sat at the table. He had learned the names of the librarians after asking them questions about the locations of books within the endless rows, and the staff quickly became fond of the Xingese scholar, often checking in on him, and turning away to pretend they didn’t notice him having snacks among his books. 

When he had entered the library one day, his usual stack of notebooks in hand, one of the librarians stopped him before he could continue upstairs to his usual study location. Afraid he had forgotten to return a book, he timidly followed, not wanting to spend the twenty cens in his pocket that his Aunt had given him for a snack after school. However instead of returning with a yellow fee slip, the librarian returned with a flyer. The top had a tear from the hole pierced in it, and he recognized that it had been torn down from the bulletin board in the main entryway. He thanked the librarian, and hurried off to set his notes down to read the paper. The flyer was handwritten in smudged black ink, and he quickly learned of a skilled alchemist in East City who was looking for his newest student. At the bottom of the paper was a small address, and the young boy quickly tore a sheet from his notebook and wrote out the most compelling letter he could muster. He wrote about himself, and how he was learning on his own in the Central City library but needed a teacher, and proclaimed that he would be extra vigilant and that he promised to be a good student. He even offered in his letter to send the man copies of his report cards from school to prove his grades, and pages from his notebooks to prove he was serious about learning. Once he was satisfied with his work, he pressed the letter into three neat folds, and stuck it at the edge of the table. After he finished his studies that day, he had asked the librarian for an envelope, which she happily provided after knowing he would be interested in the flyer she had snagged for him. He slid the letter in and scribbled on the address from the flyer, and ran as fast as he could to the post office, where his snack money was spent on a stamp, and he left the letter behind for delivery.

The young boy had been absolutely defeated when he spent each day waiting for the mailman to visit the mailbox of the bar, always hoping for a returned letter from the Master Hawkeye located in East City, but it never came. He continued through the years studying on his own, quickly advancing his skills, practicing alchemy in the small yard behind his Aunt’s bar. When he turned fourteen, he received a letter shortly after his early graduation from his academic studies. Within it, a man spoke about how he had received a letter years prior from a young boy, but would not teach him until he was of age, and that he now had an opening and would be willing to teach him if he was still determined. With childlike vigor, he quickly penned a response, and spoke to his Aunt, who happily arranged to send the teacher in the East Roy’s tuition, knowing he was well suited for the internship.

He had arrived alone in East City, it had been only his second time on a train and the ride had been quite long. After spending a small portion of the spending money his Aunt had sent with him to eat lunch in the diner downtown, he was ready to set off to meet his teacher. He followed the directions from his most recent letter through the small town and then down a long dirt road to a looming house. His knock at the door revealed a pretty, unsmiling young girl in overalls, who led him to her father's study. He had learned much from his teacher in his time studying at the Hawkeye household, but the greatest gift he received through his education was the companionship of the young Riza Hawkeye. The two slowly came to be friends, and through the years could be found shushing each other in the library in the late hours of night as to not be caught by Master Hawkeye, or splashing about the nearby pond catching frogs on the rare days Mustang was released early from his studies. He had broken his master’s trust in deciding to enroll in the military and had left her behind, only to find her at his side in the war. Then in his office at his side as his adjunct, and on the promised day, and beside him in every single battle he had ever fought. Riza Hawkeye was a constant in his life, and she would always stand beside him, gun raised beside himself as he was ready to snap, using the well guarded research she had trusted only him with. He couldn’t allow for this to be a battle that he lost, because losing her would be losing his most reliable soldier, his skilled bodyguard, his right hand and most trusted soldier, he would be losing his closest friend.

Now Mustang was playing both his and her role, and had both his gun gripped tightly in his right hand and his left hand poised to snap, his thumb pressed against his middle finger in a callous that was far too familiar. He had felt perfectly confident with just his alchemy, but Armstrong had insisted he bring a firearm as well, and he was now realizing she had been right and he felt comforted by the metal instrument. As the bullets rained through the air around them, both Mustang’s and Armstrong’s groups had reconvened, pressing their backs to the back wall of the house. Beside him, Bollen held his hand firmly clutched to his side, scarlet liquid pooling around his fingers and collecting in the fabric of the thick winter coat. The fabric was surprisingly advantageous, as he didn’t need to remove any other clothing in the cold to press it to the wound to staunch the bleeding. Despite his wound, he held his gun firmly as he was not willing to stop the fight, typical of a good Briggs soldier. Roy peeked from around the corner, raising his gun to get a shot in towards the man who was using his vehicle as cover. His shot shattered the darkly tinted passenger window, but even with the bright snow and the moonlight, it was impossible to make out the man firing shots their way. He immediately felt as if he were back in Ishval, but instead of fighting a war he didn’t want to fight, he was fighting for his life, the life of his men, and the life of his Captain. She was relying on their abilities for her own survival, each man taking his turn to send rounds into the car, but the metal body was providing the opponent sufficient cover at the distance. Giving in to the idea of not being able to bring him back for questioning, Roy snapped, easily engulfing the car in concentrated flames. The bullet fire ceased after a few short moments, and the teams agreed that the initial threat had been neutralized. Roy could hear commotion within the house, and the group was left only with the most dangerous, unideal option available now that their cover had been blown by the unexpected car. The men circled the house, pushing towards the front door for the quickest entry into the building, the only option now was to go in overtly, without the safety of silence and anonymity on their side. 

Fuery positioned himself in front of his General and in between Mustang and the front door, using his own body as a shield in the way he knew Hawkeye would have done had she been the General’s bodyguard on this mission. He was trying his best to perform as well as he could in her place, though he was sure nobody was as capable of protecting Roy Mustang as Riza Hawkeye was. The longer the mission pulled on, the more he came to realize that he was unable to predict Mustang’s next move at any given time, and made a mental note to compliment Hawkeye on that as soon as they got her out of this. The men stood on the porch, looking expectantly at the door, mentally calculating their next moves. Above them, a window loudly slid open, and gunfire poured through the roof down towards them. Armstrong stepped forward, kicking the door twice until it flew open with a significant bang, and the crew quickly swarmed into the entryway behind her. Armstrong motioned to Falman and Emery, and they fell into place closely behind her, stalking up the stairwell silently. The doorway led into a small sitting room with a kitchen just beyond it, and the stairs sat squarely beyond the front door. On either side of the stairs was a long hallway, each lined with old mismatched doors that were sloppily whitewashed, but were covered with a visible layer of dust. Without any visual clue of which hallway was being used, Mustang motioned to his men silently, splitting the team up to investigate either hall as quietly as possible. The home sat in silence, and to the trained soldiers, this was significantly more alarming than any loud fight. The silence was intimidating, forcing them to manually keep their morale up. They were aware that there was no back exit on the building, only the front door, so Mustang turned to Bollen, requesting he stand post at the door to assure that they didn’t escape with Hawkeye behind their backs. He nodded, silently acknowledging the order and thanking him for the least physically active role while he kept his hand pressed to his injury, gun drawn in his unoccupied hand. Fuery fell into place closely behind Mustang, so Breda and Fuery moved to split the group up, each moving down a hallway to investigate. 

At the top of the stairs were two large rooms, and the three men were well aware that whoever had been shooting at them on the porch was occupying one of them, the silence telling them that this person was also cocked and ready to shoot whoever opened the door. Instead of barging into any one room, they stood in complete silence to observe. Ahead them in the open hall sat one window at the end of the hallway, bullet casings scattered about, however they knew that the speed at which they had entered after gunfire meant that the shooter had had no time to evacuate downstairs without being found, so he was most definitely upstairs. After a few moments of complete silence and no clues giving away their location, it was decided that they had to make a choice and enter. Armstrong positioned herself between the two doors in the hallway, and at the count of three, Falman and Emery each kicked their door in, ducking to the side. Curiously, no gunfire came from either room, so the men entered each room, searching for the shooter. Armstrong remained at the stairwell to catch him if he tried to escape. However they quickly realized that they were in the wrong, as Falman motioned for the two others to enter his room, showing them a window above the porch open, curtain flapping in the wind. Atop the snow coated porch were footprints leading to the edge, then disappearing. Cursing, the three fled down the stairs and past Bollen, into the frozen night.

Travelling at a snail's pace down the left hallway, Breda and Havok opened each door with as little force as possible, wriggling the unlocked doors to peek inside each room to give them the best edge in the fight. Each room was turning up nothing, some rooms full of weapons, others with storage boxes, and one with a large map tapestry hung across the back wall. The hallway had three doors along the outside wall, and one closet full of jackets and snow gear was under the stairs. All of the rooms were small, but unlocked, showing the two men that they were of little value to their contenders. After finding no clues, the two turned back to offer Mustang and Fuery assistance. As they met the end of the hallway, Armstrong, Falman, and Emery sprinted down the stairs and into the yard, so Havok ran behind them, leaving Breda to catch up and assist Mustang. 

Breda quickly met up with Mustang and Fuery, finding that the right hall had four doors along the outside wall, and one on the inside wall at the very end of the hall. The men had already checked the first three rooms, and were wiggling the locked doorknob of the final door on the right. Knowing they no longer had stealth on their side, and no chance of the opponent not knowing they were there, Mustang decided to give up their cover, and Breda kicked the only locked door of the floor open. Inside sat a desk in the corner, and a large dining table covered in bills and coins. Atop the desk were bills arranged into neat and bound piles, along with a small stack of gold bars. Not taking the time to consider the origin of the money, the men quickly left the room, deeming it clear of personnel. Mustang’s hand clutched the doorknob of the final door in the hallway, fully knowing that this door held his Captain, and likely a significant fight. He ordered Breda to remain at the door, and pulled it open to reveal a flight of concrete stairs. The basement was dimly lit and smelled of mildew and water, evidence of water damage visible on the last few steps. With a deep breath, Mustang began down the stairs with Fuery closely behind. 

Outside, the thick snowfall of the impending blizzard allowed a single advantage as Armstrong and her team searched for the man who had fled from the roof. Knowing the jump from the low roof to the soft snow below had not been significant enough to injure or damage their opponent, the men were vigilant and on alert. Below the roof of the porch was a large flattened area, evidence of the jump to the ground, and from it, footprints stemmed off towards the next house in the area. Armstrong, Falman, Emery, and Havok quickly ran off, following the deep footprints as quickly as they could as they trudged through the snow, becoming ever deeper as snowfall fluttered down from the heavens. 

Arriving at the next house, the footprints wrapped around the entire house, quite apparently in effort to throw them off his trail. The snowfall was working quickly to fill in the footprints, despite how deep they were in the current snow, and worry fell upon the four. Armstrong and Emery took the lead, using their knowledge of the area and of weather patterns to trigger their investigative skills adapted for their northern home. 

“Whoever this is knows the area, and knows how to survive the cold.” Emery stated matter-of-fact. “If he’s smart, he would have moved for cover, this storm is rolling in and it doesn’t look like it’s stopping any time soon.”

Armstrong replied with a curt nod before speaking. “The storm is blowing in from the west, the wind is pretty strong, so he wouldn’t have spent too much time getting us off his trail. He wouldn’t have come this direction without already heading this direction in his plan, so we can nearly guarantee he didn’t come this way then backtrack back towards the road or double back to the hostage situation, it would take too much time and energy, plus he knew we would be closely following.”

“He’s had a good amount of time to get away, but I don’t think he’d keep travelling too long, there’s nothing closer than the town, and even then they were totally dark for the evening and wouldn’t have had an inn or anything open to hospitality this late.” Falman remarked.

“We know the next house down is uninhabited, right?” Emery responded so immediately that had she spoken any earlier she would have interrupted him. In response, the men moved as quickly as possible in the direction of the next home, only traces of footprints visible as the snowfall worked quickly to event the surface. The house was quite small, and in a state of severe disrepair from the lack of inhabitants. As the group got closer, Armstrong recognized it as one of the many gray brick homes built fifty or so years earlier as it became popular for city dwellers to build homes far north in Amestris to attempt to live off the grid. The north was littered with small brick and concrete homes of people who had long given up or failed at the harsh northern way of life. The thatched ceiling was weighed down with the thick flurry, looking as if it could collapse at any moment, but knowing that it had survived this long in the winter’s conditions allowed Armstrong to decide it was safe enough to enter. Before they arrived at the door, the four had drawn their weapons, which they quickly realized was absolutely necessary. As they swung open the old and rusted door, bullets began to litter the snow, the four flattened their bodies against the outside wall of the small house to assure they were covered. Despite the difficult situation, the men felt extreme relief in knowing that they had properly located the threat, and that they were now in active pursuit of the second man in the operation, but unsettled by being so far withdrawn from the hostage situation occurring in the home that was now a significant distance away, and out of earshot. After a few minutes of automatic gunfire, the men realized their chance as the gun clicked, and the fire ceased. Knowing the man was reloading, and taking the chance in assuming he did not have a backup weapon, the men charged into the room. Dropping his now useless gun to the ground, the man threw a punch, which Armstrong accurately dodged. The three men had their guns trained on the man, watching him exchange punches with their superior. Knowing the opportunity at hand that would be possible if they could capture and question the man for information, they all held their fire but kept their weapons raised and ready should they need to put an end to the physical fight. As Armstrong landed a punch to his chest, Emery stepped forward and quickly swept his feet with her leg, watching him plummet to the ground. He drew a thick bladed hunting knife from its place on his hip, threateningly waving it towards the men as he began to stand. Armstrong smashed his hand into the ground under her steel toe boot, and easily removed the knife from his grip. She pulled him to stand, wrapping his hands behind him. Without having to say a word, she prodded him forward, keeping a grip on him so he couldn’t run, though that became an immediately impossible idea as they returned to the storm outside. Armstrong and Havok each had a tight hold on an arm of their captured suspect as they ushered him forward, and Falman kept his gun trained on the man as he followed from behind. Trudging ahead of them was Emery, who left the three behind as she moved as quickly as she could towards the home in the foggy distance. 

As Mustang reached the final step of the stairwell, he and Fuery entered a rather unpleasant area of the house. The scent of mildew was even stronger downstairs, and the unfinished boards, pipes, and wires of the ceiling were but a foot and a half taller than himself. As the two moved about the large square footage of the basement, realizing it felt just as cold downstairs as it did outside, the stone walls offered little warmth from the conditions outside and the permafrost that the building had been built into. The entire room was open, other than two rooms along the wall furthest from the stairs. The large space was reasonably unfurnished, the only visible furnishing in the entire basement was an old card table in the center of the room, and a wooden table with a telephone situated directly between the two far doors. At the card table sat three worn chairs with tan fabric cushions, allowing the men to conclude that they had only one man in the basement to find and handle, since Armstrong’s team was in pursuit of the man upstairs, and the other man had been caught in Mustang’s flames beside the car. The realization that Hawkeye was likely just beyond one of the two doors, closely guarded by her captor both excited and terrified them. Despite the severity of the situation and the dark atmosphere of the low ceilinged basement, this brought the group a slight amount of hope in simply knowing that they outnumbered their opponent significantly. 

As the men started to move and split up walking towards the two closed doors, the door on the right swung abruptly open. Every minute detail of Mustang’s day and the current events seemed to entrap his mind, keeping his entire attention and drilling into his head, as if every moment lasted an entire lifetime. Every passing second seemed to cascade like sand through the narrow throat of an hourglass, every grain bringing him microscopically closer to bringing home Captain Hawkeye. Then, like a Valkyrie rising from the clutches of war, there she was. The tattered, torn, beaten and bruised, yet still terribly beautiful Riza Hawkeye was sitting in a chair just beyond the doorway in the corner of the basement, the face and form of his reliable subordinate and closest confidant illuminated softly by the lamp in the hands of the man beside her. Roy ran as if his life depended on it, though surely hers did, focusing on the man standing beside her, and the evil grin curling up at the corners of his thin lips. Riza raised her chin ever so slightly to give the smallest “no” possible, her eyes moving quickly towards the man beside her to give Mustang a desperate cue, though he ignored it as he moved. He knew well that she was telling him to stop in his tracks and leave her there, and he wouldn’t even consider that an option when he was this close to bringing her home. As he ran through the basement, the pungent scent of kerosene met his nose, though he was unable to categorize it quickly enough as a threat. Before Mustang had a chance to process the situation, the lamp plummeted from the man's hand and shattered on the cement below. The incident felt as slow moving as every other event of the long day, the burning wick falling into the pool of kerosene on the cement floor, and his Captain was drowned behind a wall of flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I'm so sorry about the amount of time it took me to finish up and post this chapter, I sincerely hope it was worth the wait! I promise this cliff hanger will be resolved quickly for you (this time), and I hope to have the next chapter finished and posted within the next week or so now that midterms are over and I have quite a bit more time available to write non-academically. It's looking like there will either be one more chapter, MAYBE two, depending on how I break up my ending! Let me know what you think (did this surprise you?), and if it lived up to your expectations!


	9. O Negative

Mustang didn't stop running as the flames were fed by the kerosene, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he burst into the engulfed room, quickly locating his subordinate through the smoke. Instead of slowing the process by untying her, he pulled the entire chair into his arms, running from the burning room, and through the basement. He set the chair down briefly, and Fuery worked quickly to pull the back legs of the chair up, helping Mustang carry her up the stairs, then out into the freezing night far from the burning house as quickly as possible. She was alive, and he felt like he could breathe again for the first time since receiving the distress call days prior. His shaking hands worked slowly to untie the rope from her wrists and ankles, and Fuery quickly moved his fingers away to cut her bindings with his knife. Bollen was shortly behind them, carefully guarding their backs with his gun drawn, unaware if the other shooter from upstairs had yet been neutralized. Mustang's head was throbbing, and he pulled Riza's face gently into his palm for a moment to press his index finger to her neck, silently observing her bruises. She was lucky, she only had minor burns on her legs from the fire, she hadn’t been in the flames long enough to have severe smoke damage in her lungs, but she wasn’t conscious. He briefly observed her other visible injuries, his eyes darting in alarm between the fresh blood matted on her shoulder and thigh, cursing the fact that he was aware that plenty more were probably under her thin clothes. His hand on her carotid artery reassured him that her heart was pumping, and though labored, her chest slowly rose and fell with each breath, delivering clean oxygen into her veins. Mustang pulled the pack from his back, tossing it into the snow and pulling supplies from it. He gently wrapped her into the more appropriate thick coat with the help of Fuery. Fuery lifted her as gently as he could so that Mustang could pull thicker pants atop her torn ones. As he tied the warm pants at her waist, he furrowed his brow in confusion as he felt something along the waistband of her pants. He carefully folded over the waistband to assure she was still covered, and couldn’t help but smile as he ran his fingers over the stars from her jacket pinned into her waistband. Even having been captured, she had been aware enough and concerned enough about her cover to assure that her rank couldn’t be stolen when her clothes were replaced. Typical Captain Riza Hawkeye, ever vigilant. He carefully unpinned the stars from her waistband to take away any discomfort, and stowed them in his breast pocket to return to her later. He pulled her feet into his lap to rub warmth into them before he pulled a pair of thick wool socks on to replace her damp pair. Realizing he had somehow forgotten to bring her boots, he decided to remove his own, and pulled his socks over her feet as well to keep out the cold. After he returned his boots to his feet, the duo worked to pull mittens onto her chilled fingers, and a warm knit hat over her head. They couldn’t work to heal any of her injuries here in the storm, so the best they could do was keep her as warm as they could manage in the blizzard conditions, and to get her back to Briggs as quickly as possible for medical treatment and try to stop any bleeding on the truck ride there. Emery arrived at the scene before Armstrong and the others, and offered a look of immediate relief upon seeing Captain Hawkeye had been recovered. She removed her own scarf to wind it around Hawkeye’s neck, and informed the men of the situation.

“We have the shooter in custody, and I confirmed the death of the man from the car on my return from the nearby house that we captured the shooter at. The outdoor threats have been neutralized.” She saluted, but Mustang quickly waved it away.

“We swept the house and only found one guy in the basement with Captain Hawkeye, he lit the room on fire and we didn’t recover him, the house will likely be engulfed soon. No new injuries on our end, but Bollen here will need treatment for his gunshot.” Mustang replied, filling her in and acknowledging Emery’s surprise. “Where are the others?”

“Shortly behind me, bringing the shooter with them. I wanted to get ahead in case you needed backup, but it looks like you’ve got her safe and sound. I know General Armstrong has medical staff posted and ready at the gate for the moment we return.” Emery nodded, and Fuery thanked her with a nod in response. 

Mustang worked quickly to zip the pack he had carried, and tossed it to Fuery, who pulled it onto his own back and snapped it into place. He turned his back to Hawkeye’s chair, and pulled her arms over his shoulders, straightening his back by grabbing her behind the knees and leaning slightly forward to settle her onto his back. He shifted his weight, and took place behind Bollen, who began leading them towards the road, knowing that Armstrong’s team should be reaching that point by now. After meeting up with Armstrong, who took the tail end of the group, the others settled into a line tightly behind one another so as to not lose one another in the thickening storm. Getting lost in this weather was surely a death sentence. Due to the weather, the trucks weren’t able to drive into the small village to pick up the soldiers, instead remaining on the road roughly a quarter mile out for them to hike through the challenging forces to. Behind Mustang, Fuery carefully tucked the scarf back around the Captain’s neck every time the wind tried to snatch it away, occasionally offering to take a turn carrying her for his superior, who declined each offer. The journey to the trucks took what felt like an eternity to the octet, though the total time to return was only around an hour or so. 

Entering the trucks felt like stepping into a sauna, the men were hit with the reality that they had simply become so cold they had begun to feel numb. The heat seeped through to their muscles as they relaxed against the military issued leather seats that pleasantly held the heat from the cranking heaters. Captain Hawkeye was laid across the bench seat, and Mustang carefully propped her head in his lap, absentmindedly brushing the dirty, bloodied, and matted hair away from her eyes. Her breathing was staggered, and her breath fell unevenly in her chest as she struggled. The drive was going to take a while due to the severe weather, so he allowed a good amount of time for her to warm up before unzipping her coat to assess her condition. He had noted the blood present on her thin clothes before, but had to spend his time quickly dressing her for the weather and getting her away from the house, so he was wholly unaware of the damages. 

As he pulled her arms from the jacket, his breath hitched as he got the chance to observe her injuries. Her right shoulder had a significant amount of blood seeped through her thin sweater, and he could see a littering of bruises peeking above her collar. It suddenly hit him that this was quite obviously not her shirt, as she had been taken from her post where she would have been in uniform. He shook away wondering why the thin garments were given to her from his mind, and peeled the shirt from her shoulder as gently as possible, knowing that spending time pondering wasn’t going to do her any good. 

Roy Mustang had been in enough battles to recognize the sight before him, and immediately acknowledged the bullet wound. The hole was jagged, showing him it had been from a weapon at close range, and he was unable to spot a bullet within it, and it didn’t appear to be a new injury, telling him that she had been losing blood for quite some time now. He knew that the absence of a bullet allowed less chance of internal infection, however the lodged bullet could have decreased the significant amount of blood on her shirt that could and should be inside her instead. The edges around the wound were a deep inflamed red, making Mustang fear the impending infection from being in the dank basement. The truck had limited medical supplies, and he had limited medical skills, so he simply pressed a good amount of gauze to the wound, and used medical tape to keep it pressed close to her body before replacing the fabric over her shoulder. He timidly lifted the sweater at her waist, pulling it upward to maintain her modesty in front of himself and the other soldiers. His heart dropped to his feet as he reviewed the damages. The bruising along her collar was clearly foreshadowing to the damage across her torso. Her ribs were brilliant colors of purple and green, and as he ran his finger carefully along them, he could easily feel that at least three of her ribs felt cracked or broken to his untrained hands. He quickly pulled her shirt back down, and slipped her arms back into the jacket to zip it again.

As he glanced across her body, he realized the blossoming of a bright scarlet stain on her left midthigh. Mustang swallowed hard before slipping off the pair of pants he had pulled atop her pants, and realized the wound was recent, as told by the slash visible in the thin pants. Since the pants were lightweight, he chose to roll them upward from the ankle, eventually pulling the fabric above the wound to get a look at it. Her thigh was deeply bruised, and had he pressed his hand down atop it he wouldn’t have been able to cover the entire extent of the discoloration. Just above the large bruise in alignment with the hole in her pants was a slash, perhaps four inches long and appearing to be quite deep. Though unsure of the exact origin, he assumed it to be a stab wound, and quickly began to put pressure on the wound, holding a towel from the truck to it until it seemed to slow a bit. He repeated what he had done with her gunshot wound, wrapping gauze tightly around her thigh and taping it into place before tugging the thicker pants back onto her legs. This wound seemed fresh, and he hoped this would be enough to stop the bleeding, so he pressed his hand to the wound to keep pressure. He held the palm of his other hand to her forehead, noting that she was beginning to regain color after being deathly pale outside in the snow, and she was starting to feel much warmer to the touch than she had been when they first got into the truck, much to Mustang’s relief. Her ears remained quite red, and Mustang became suddenly aware of the significant chance and risk of frostbite, and pulled her hat down more firmly over her ears. After a few moments in the basement, he had realized it was just as cold as the outdoors, and if she had spent her time there in just the thin clothing she had been provided, he was sure her fingers and toes would be frostbitten, though he was relieved that she didn’t seem to exhibit signs of hypothermia somehow. He found solace in knowing that Briggs was likely the best equipped place in the country to handle such an ailment however. He wrestled the mitten off of her left hand, taking note of the bright red digits. Her hands were quite red, though none of her fingers appeared to be too dark or blackened, hopefully that meant it was mild, and he hoped the same for her feet, though he didn’t check as to not move her too much and progress her injuries. 

With a sigh, he found himself with his face against the cool glass of the truck, knowing that he was unable to do anything further for his Captain from the truck, and that he should attempt some rest for the remainder of the crawling ride to Fort Briggs, aware that he would likely be spending a significant amount of time in the fort, especially around the infirmary. He was in a different truck from General Armstrong and Bollen, though he was sure that Bollen was strong and had begun to take proper care of his injury, especially with the help of the other officers. His hand rested with his index and middle fingers pressed reliably to Hawkeye’s neck, as if their presence could allow her heart to continue beating, and her lungs to continue breathing. As she grew warmer, he recognized the terrible hitch in each breath, jarring him to his core, but he pressed his faith into realizing that any breath was better than her being unbreathing. Her face was bruised, and a bit swollen, but he couldn’t help but see how beautiful and strong she looked even in sleep. He turned his gaze to view outside the window into the white abyss swirling around the vehicles, and realized that the fort was now in view, sending his praise to the heavens. The snowstorm was still raging, but he was now warm, and Hawkeye was safe and in his lap, his entire squadron had survived, and a captive was in the truck behind him, ready for the questioning on unrelenting Briggs men. He thought he was supposed to be happy, but he simply couldn’t muster it within himself until he heard from a medical professional that she would be okay, that she would open her eyes again, and speak again, walk again. Hell, he could do without her walking again. He had grown quite close to Havok through their phone calls while he was away from the military working for his family business, he could handle her never walking again as long as she was alive and breathing and healthy. It had been quite nice to connect with and grow close to another person, aside from Hawkeye, after the passing of Maes. 

He couldn’t help but wonder what Maes would have done in this situation, though after a brief moment of thought, he knew with certainty that he would have been right at his side, cheering him on and fighting the good fight to assure the safety of his friend. He also couldn’t help but think that perhaps Maes was out there somewhere, grinning down on him and celebrating the retrieval of a friend, and that brought Mustang some amount of unsettled peace. The truck finally began to slow even more than the snail's pace it had been moving at, and Mustang recognized that they had arrived at the towering main gate of Fort Briggs. He swiftly swung the door open and gathered Hawkeye into his arms, exiting the vehicle and heading towards the haven as quickly as he could muster. The gate had swung out, and medical personnel swarmed towards him, helping Hawkeye onto a stretcher as they swept her away towards the medial wing, Mustang closely following behind. He made eye contact with a nurse trotting alongside the group. “She’s lost a lot of blood, do you have what’s necessary to complete a transfusion.”

“We don’t, no,” She replied fearfully, “The injuries we treat here rarely require more than stitches.”

“She’s O negative, so am I.” He spit out, “Let me donate blood.”

The nurse nodded quickly, and pulled him into a side room as they made it to the medical wing, sterilizing his arm before inserting the needle. Mustang was quite experienced with donating blood and did it routinely back in Central, so he was unphased by the situation, his mind was far elsewhere. After collecting his donation she handed him a bandage and gave him an apologetic look before disappearing down the halls. He pressed the blue fabric bandage to the prick, and started down the hallway. He wanted more than anything to stand at her side and oversee the treatment she’s undergoing, but he was aware that his presence would likely serve as a distraction more than having even the slightest possibility of helping the situation. His feet took him back to the main gate, where his team stood waiting for him. He was promptly informed that Bollen had gone to the medical wing with Emery, though he had not seen them in his travels, and Armstrong had taken the captured assailant to a holding cell. His men stood dutifully at his side, and he could only muster a deep breath as they saluted him. 

“She’s in the medical wing, undergoing treatment and a blood transfusion.” He explained, knowing the question on everyone’s mind without being spoken. “You all need to go get cleaned and warmed up, change out of your wet clothes and back into your warm weather gear from Central. It isn’t as warm as what Briggs gave us, but we’re indoors and your Briggs gear is too saturated to be appropriate. Return the Briggs gear to the lowest floor in the uniform department, it’s daybreak so they should be available soon for retrieval of soiled garments. Our unit will move in accordance with the needs of Captain Hawkeye, be ready to move out at any time should we need to transport her quickly for further treatment. Myself and Fuery have rooms, feel free to use them to dress and shower, he can show you to them.”

“Sir, aren’t you going to change too?” Fuery inquired as Mustang tossed him the key to his room. 

“I’m going to go interrogate the bitch that held Captain Hawkeye captive.” Mustang spoke through grit teeth. “He’s lucky I won’t be inflicting the gunshots and stab wounds she endured.” Without a further word, Mustang headed the opposite direction of his team towards the elevator on the far end of the fort, pressing the floor corresponding with the holding cells. When he arrived, Armstrong stood brooding in the hallway, glaring into the cell and thoroughly intimidating the man before her. 

“What’s his name.” Mustang spoke curtly, not bothering to address General Armstrong by her title, though she appeared to be so irked that it wasn’t a bother. She gave him a fiery look that showed her annoyance. She didn’t know. “Who are you, Rowan?” He turned to the man in the cell, fuming.

“Maybe, maybe not.” He snickered. He was willowy and slender, standing just taller than Mustang from what he could tell from the sitting man before him. His hair was a golden shade of blond, and was slicked back meticulously despite the tussle he had endured in taking on Armstrong and her men. 

“Are you the one who shot my Captain?” Mustang demanded, taking a step closer to the bars. General Armstrong took a step back, fully intending to thoroughly interrogate the man later, but knowing Mustang needed to get in his quips.

“Maybe,” He grinned, “maybe not.”

“Son of a bitch.” Mustang angrily slammed his open palm against the bars. “Why the hell did you need to take her, who are you working for?”

“I have a question for you, Mister General Mustang, hero of Ishval, projected next Fuhrer of the great country of Amestris.” The man’s lips curled once again into a cheshire grin. Without waiting a moment for Mustang’s response, he continued. “Why the hell is she YOUR Captain? You own her or something?”

Mustang allowed an angry growl to escape his throat as he looked at the man. “Listen here, asshole. I have you captured from the scene where a high ranking officer under my personal command was held captive against her will. The Amestrian military received threatening calls, and the hostage was heavily injured. At the best, you’re looking at charges for kidnapping military personnel and attempted murder. At the worst, you’re looking at those charges, plus taunting the government, and every other charge I can tack on you, and I will. You’re looking at life in prison, or the firing squad, and I quite like the sound of the latter option.” Mustang felt his lips curl into a far too familiar smile. This felt like the fight with Envy, except this time he didn’t have Hawkeye at his side to talk him down and to tell him to let the anger go before it consumes him. This time however, he felt he could let that slide. “So, tell me. Who are you. And who do you work for.”

The man stared back at Mustang in surprise at the snapped man wordlessly. The lack of response only served to infuriate Mustang further, and he slammed his hand against the bars once more, rattling them against their hinges. “Is it Rowan?” He demanded, and the man gave the slightest nod in response to the intimidating officer before him. “Fantastic, Rowan. Now tell me who you work for, and why you felt the need to capture my Captain instead of facing me head on.”

“How do you know my name?” Rowan spat at Mustang’s shoes, squaring himself up once more after the exchange.

“My Captain is far smarter than you think, dear Rowan.” Mustang spoke, toying with the man who seemingly desperately wanted to know how his flawless mission had failed. “You gave her the phone.”

“She didn’t say a word about us or her location to you, I’m not stupid, General Asswipe.” Rowan growled in response. Mustang grit his teeth for a moment, but before he could get another word in, a chip sounded over the loudspeakers of the fort demanding General Mustang’s presence in the medical wing. Before the thought to leave even crossed his mind, Mustang was sprinting towards the stairwell, deeming the route on foot faster than the elevator, no matter how fast they seemed. He made it to the medical wing in record time, coming to a stop at the door, where he was met by a nurse.

“What’s going on?” He asked breathlessly.

“She’s undergone a transfusion, you’ve saved her life.” She began, “We’ve repaired damages from the bullet wound and stab wound and have cleaned the infection in her shoulder, but she has a collapsed lung and broken ribs and we don’t have the ability to complete a complicated surgery to repair her lung on premises.”

“Does she need to be transported elsewhere?” He asked swiftly, the words spitting out of his mouth faster than he could think them, and he paled. “Would you please intercom for my team to report to the front gate for departure immediately.” He asked, then ordered. She nodded in compliance, and a man down the hall motioned for him to come. Through the long, gray, empty halls of the fort echoed the message to his team, pleasing him with the urgency. When he met with the doctor he was pulled into the room, and there she was, wired and monitored up in a hospital gown. The blood was washed from her skin, and her fingers were tightly wrapped. She had a slight blush to her skin from the blood transfusion, and appeared significantly less dead than she had looked before sitting on the chair in the snowstorm.

“General Mustang, sir, Captain Hawkeye is stable and we’ve treated her wounds and frostbite. Her breathing is abnormal, she has several broken ribs that will heal on their own, however she has a collapsed lung. Without the resources of a full surgical unit I’m unable to perform this surgery, but I can guarantee she is stable enough and strong enough to travel back to Central to undergo the surgery. I’ve phoned transport and the blizzard is easing and we can get you quickly to the train. Transport has contacted the railroad to hold boarding of the train until we arrive and for immediate dispatch upon our boarding, and a nurse is phoning Central hospital as we speak to expect our arrival.”

Overloaded with information, Mustang simply nodded, holding her much warmer hand in his own for just a moment. “You think she’ll be okay enough to make it to Central?”

“Yes sir, I don’t believe the collapse is significant enough to cause further damage in that time, and her other lung is fully functional and is working properly. With oxygen being administered she’ll be perfectly fine for the trip. I’ll be accompanying you and your team to monitor her condition, and I believe that this entire situation will end admirably.” The doctor spoke firmly, and Mustang agreed, walking beside the doctor as he watched him load Hawkeye onto a stretcher to get to the front gate. He took one side of the board and helped him down the hallway with their precious cargo. She felt so light, even on the board, that he came to realize that she was much more fragile than he had ever known her to be, even as a child. His men were waiting and were lined up beside the door, and saluted the General and Captain as they arrived, immediately loading her into a black van, where Mustang and the doctor sat on either side of her in the back without any seats. The driver sped off, the other van closely behind with the rest of the team. The drive to the train station was much shorter than expected, since the weather was clearing nicely as they moved further south, and the driver was moving at a fast pace. They made the journey silently until offering a simple “1-2-3” before lifting the stretcher to carry the Captain onto the train, where she was laid on her stretcher onto the bed of an overnight car. The train began barrelling towards the Central train station, mere blocks from the Central hospital, and Mustang and his men exhaled in relief. The doctor monitoring her conditions assured the men she was doing well, and they fell back into chatterless silence, which they all found to be much preferable over the “what if’s.” Mustang fell into a mental countdown for the journey, and watched his men slip into the clutches of sleep as the sun began peeking over the snowy horizon. Instead of sleeping, the General kept his eyes tightly trained to the monitor sitting beside her on the bed mapping out her pulse, silently praying that he would never see those peaks flatline.

The arrival at Central Station was nearly effortless, an ambulance was awaiting their arrival, and swept Hawkeye off to the hospital in the blink of an eye, Mustang refusing to leave her side until she disappeared through the doors of the ER. He became suddenly aware of his wet Briggs issued winter gear, and sank into a seat beside Fuery, who offered a single pat on his forearm as reassurance.

“Boss, you should go back home and change. She’s going to be in surgery for a bit. We’ll stay here and call you if there’s any news.” Breda offered gently, and though he wanted to argue and disagree and remain faithfully in the waiting room, he knew that was the correct idea. After a moment of mulling it over in his head, he finally stood, offering his men a stern ‘you best call me if anything occurs,’ look, and exited the building. 

The autumnal warmth of Central City was significantly different from the conditions north in Briggs, and Mustang removed his now much too warm jacket as he briskly walked down the main road. His apartment was only a few blocks from the hospital, closer to the center of town, so he had decided against hailing a cab in favor of getting some fresh air. He absentmindedly dismissed the knowledge that he wasn’t in need of more exercise after the day he had experienced, but he told himself it was good for him, and before he knew it he had returned to the comfort of his home. He tugged off the thick boots, not bothering to pull the socks out of them when they came off with the footwear. He dropped the coat at the door, and trudged directly to his bathroom. He showered quickly, scrubbing his skin roughly before exiting and towel drying his hair to the point of being just dry enough to be presentable. He dressed in a standard uniform, and noticed the clock in his bedroom showing that he had now been awake for more than twenty four hours straight, yet the last thing he wanted right now was sleep. He stood at the phone, and fought the urge to phone the hospital for an update, knowing his men would have called him the moment news had arrived. Instead, he dialed the number of Rebecca Catalina, reassuring the Captain’s friend that she had been recovered and is safe and in surgery, offering her promises to call her as soon as Riza could take a visitor. After thanking her for caring for Black Hayate, he hung up the phone and tugged on his military issue boots, briefly appreciating how much more comfortable they were than the Briggs winter boots. This time he hailed a taxi, and returned to the hospital a mere twenty five minutes after he had left. As he entered the waiting room, he found all of his men aside for Falman dozing off, and he woke each one and ordered them to go home for some rest, promising to phone them with any news. He settled into a chair, propping his left leg up over his right knee, and planted his elbow into the arm of the chair to lean his face into his left hand.

After what felt like an eternity, a doctor stepped out into the waiting room and briefly scanned until he met the eyes of the only inhabitant, and approached Mustang. “Good morning, General!” He cheerfully spoke. “I trust you’d like to see the Captain?”

Mustang stood and eagerly nodded, settling into place beside the doctor, who held the door open to him. “How is she?”

“Stable!” The doctor remarked, far too cheerfully for the early hour. “The Briggs medical staff handled her major wounds well, and her fingers and toes had already been treated for frostbite when she arrived, I don’t believe there’s any permanent damage there.” The doctor opened another door, leading them past the ER and into a hallway of patient rooms. “The surgery for her collapsed lung went well, and we expect a full recovery to full capacity. While roughly half of all collapsed lungs will collapse again after they’ve been repaired, we feel it’s unlikely for her to experience that as the damage was extremely minor. She’ll need to be on oxygen for a bit while she’s in the hospital to recover from her other injuries and be monitored, but I don’t see the lung being a problem in the future.”

Mustang allowed a sigh of relief, nodding to the doctor. “I’m quite glad to hear that.”

“Does she have any family you’d like me to phone, a husband or parents that need informed of her condition?” The doctor asked, motioning towards a closed door with the silver numbers “177” nailed on at eye level.

“Just me.” Mustang spoke, and the doctor shrugged, and opened the door. After a moment of contemplation, Mustang turned back to the doctor. “Actually, please phone Central Command and ask to speak to Fuhrer Grumman. He should be informed. They’ll put your call to him through as long as you inform him that General Mustang requested that you phone him and that you are hospital staff.”

Surprised, the doctor nodded, charmed by his task of speaking to the Fuhrer of Amestris. “Go ahead and visit. I expect her to wake up any moment now as the anesthesia wears off, she’s going to be sore, but we expect a full recovery. We can update you on her injuries with her chart in further detail later today, we thought you’d appreciate being able to see her first.”

Mustang nodded absently, walking into the room. Hawkeye looked so strange in all white, laying in a white bed wearing white scrubs, in a white room, in the white hall of a white building. This hospital truly seemed to be the all white counterpart of the all gray Fort Briggs. Though bruised, her face had finally regained it’s usual color, and as Mustang sat in the chair beside her bed, he began to realize that she looked significantly more alive than she had when they first found her. The gentle beep of the heart monitor calmed him, and he was quite glad that he didn’t have to keep her pulse manually in order to remind himself that she was actually there in front of him. The doctors had washed the blood and grime from her skin and hair, and despite her injuries, Mustang couldn’t help but think she looked peaceful. He didn’t realize he had done it, but he was sitting with her left hand held gently between both of his own hands, rubbing gentle circles into her soft flesh. Her fingers were still a bit pink, and the smell of aloe wafted into the air of the sterile room. 

Her eyelashes fluttered a bit before her amber eyes finally met his own, blinking a few times until the room around her came into focus. Mustang felt a smile grow on his lips without even thinking, and the immediate nostalgic feeling hit him. This felt exactly the way he felt when Mai had saved her life on the Promised Day. He felt blessed, relieved, and… something else too. “Hey there.” He softly spoke, watching as her gaze found its way to meet his eyes. She physically relaxed, no longer holding herself tense and at the ready.

“You got my messages.” She replied, her voice raspy on her lips.

“Of course I did, I know you.” Mustang squeezed her hand. “We wouldn’t have found you without them.”

“You carried me.” She spoke, the statement sounding more like a question to his trained ears. 

He nodded in response, and gave a trademark grin. “We’re pretty lucky we’re the same blood type, too. Briggs was surprisingly unprepared.” He recognized as the realization hit her, and she offered another soft smile, she didn’t have to speak her thanks for him to know what she was saying. They had known each other far too long to need words of thanks to portray their gratitude to one another. “I was terrified.” He finally admitted.

“Me too.” She said, bringing her hand to her lips to cover a cough. Mustang used his free hand to straighten the blanket beside her, allowing her time to recover. “I was afraid they were going to tell you I was dead and then go for you next.”

“Are you up to a few visitors? The men waited here all night for you, I sent them home for some rest. I’m sure Catalina and Hayate are itching to come see you as well.” Roy furled his brow, disregarding her last statement. He was then confused by the sudden emotion before him. He wasn’t sure what he had said wrong to cause tears to gather and threaten to spill. “Hey, what’s going on?” He asked gently.

“They’re not dead?” She spoke, her voice full of sleep, and her emotions tipped all around from the medication cocktail in her IV drip. 

“No, they’re all okay. Everyone survived.” He reassured, making a mental note to have this conversation again later once she was more mentally stable. She quickly brushed the tears from her eyes. 

“Yes, I’d be okay to have visitors. I’ve missed everyone.” She spoke, and Mustang wordlessly removed the phone from its receiver at the table beside her bed. He dialed Fuery’s phone number, and recognized the chirp of his voice after not even a single ring had completed. Surely the boy had been sitting by his phone awaiting a call, something Mustang was all too familiar with himself. “Fuery, it’s Mustang.”

“General Mustang! How is Captain Hawkeye?” He asked without hesitation, loudly enough for Hawkeye to hear from her place in bed, a smile cracking on her lips. 

“Well, she’s awake and is ready for visitors. Could you phone Havok, Breda, and Falman for me? She’s in room 177 in the West Wing.”

“Yes sir!” He spoke cheerfully. “Would you like me to phone Rebecca Catalina as well?” He asked, and Mustang looked to Hawkeye for her response, and she shook her head no.

“No, I’ll be happy to do that, I’ll personally be phoning General Armstrong to update her as well, she deserves our thanks.”

“Yes Sir!” Fuery fumbled on the other end before hanging up, clearly excited for the news.

“Do you feel up to calling Rebecca?” Mustang asked, and Hawkeye nodded. “Just don’t let her talk your ear off, you need to be resting.”

Hawkeye held the phone to her ear, nodding to Mustang as he dialed the number for her. She rested the phone in the crook of her neck after being surprised at how weak the muscles in her hands and arms felt. After a few rings, the familiar “hello?” of her friend was followed by excitable barking and yelping in the background, and a “hush, Hayate!” 

“Rebecca?” Hawkeye asked, and a shriek made its way through the phone, causing Hawkeye to pull her ear a bit further from the phone. “Oh my god, Riza! We were all so worried about you! How are you doing, are you home?”

“I’m in the hospital in Central, room 177, General Mustang said that the doctors cleared me for visitors if you’d like to come with Hayate.” She replied quietly, not able to muster a louder voice for the phone, but Rebecca heard her well nonetheless. 

“Of course, Ri, we’ll be right there! I’m so happy to hear from you.” The bubbly girl spoke quickly, and Hawkeye handed Mustang the phone to hang up.

After the hour was up, each man on her team, Rebecca Catalina, and Black Hayate had all done rounds in the room for visitation, followed by a visit from Fuhrer Grumman, who was extremely glad to see his granddaughter alive and in good shape. The commotion had led Hawkeye to sleep, and Mustang felt himself melt back into the chair beside her. Hayate was curled up in a tight ball at her side, guarding his master fearlessly once more. It was now past suppertime, and he felt the familiar growl of his stomach, and the need for sleep was heavy on his mind. Realizing that he would be unable to offer proper care without caring for himself, he phoned the cafeteria, and a meal was brought up to her room for him. It was typical hospital food, a bowl of soup and some crackers and a bottle of juice, but he happily scarfed it down, then settled back into the armchair. It wasn’t terribly comfortable, but in his mind it definitely beat the rock solid beds of Fort Briggs, and he gazed at the phone for a while before deciding to briefly update Briggs. After the call, he established his place in the chair, and drifted to sleep, unwilling to leave Hawkeye alone for the evening after she had been alone for far too long. He slept through the night, despite the regular rounds and checks being done by the nurses scurrying around, and woke as the sun rays began to peek through the sheer window curtains. 

After hours of nurses, a doctor poked his head into the room with a knock before entering. He sat on a stool at the end of Hawkeye’s bed, and met the two with a grin. “You’re quite lucky, Captain, to have such a caring superior officer.”

“I am.” She replied succinctly. 

“I’m here to go over your condition, and I’m happy to let you know that we expect you to make a full recovery. Are you ready for me to go over everything?” He spoke, and Mustang could see the wave of relief through the woman beside him before she offered a curt nod. “The gunshot wound to your shoulder was thoroughly cleaned and treated while you were in Briggs, as well as the knife wound to your thigh. You received a blood transfusion immediately after arriving at Briggs, and we stitched the thigh gash here upon your arrival. You have mild cases of frostbite in your ears, nose, fingers, and toes, but they’ve been adequately treated and just require regular aloe treatments until the color returns to normal. You were transported here from Briggs for surgery on a collapsed lung, and aside from those injuries, you do have a few broken ribs that will knit themselves together, along with various scrapes and significant bruising.” Hawkeye could only nod after the list had been delivered to her. “Like I said though, it will all heal in time. Your lungs will be checked again tomorrow morning and we’ll take you off oxygen then if they look good, and you’ll be free to leave as soon as we know that your gunshot and stab wounds don’t appear to be regaining any infection, perhaps a week at the most.”

“Thank you.” Mustang spoke first, “I’m quite glad she received such fantastic care.” He complimented.

“Of course!” He replied with a smile. “It’ll be some time before you’re back to one hundred percent, and you’ll have to go through some physical therapy for your arm after the injury itself physically heals up. It’ll also be a good while before you can put weight on your leg, but we all do believe you’ll make a fantastic recovery and be back in action fairly swiftly!” and with that, the doctor was swept out to visit another patient as Hawkeye slipped back into sleep. 

After a few more waves of brief visitation while she slept, Havok pushed Mustang out of his chair as dinnertime neared, telling his superior that he needed to go get some real food and some fresh air. On any other occasion, Mustang may have argued that he would not take orders from a subordinate, however he realized that Havok was indeed right, and he could use a change of clothes as well. As Havok settled into the chair that had become Mustang’s temporary bed, Mustang took one more look at Hawkeye before heading out of the room. He walked back to his apartment to shower, and changed into black slacks and a white button up, selecting some plain clothes since he supposed it was his day off even if he was visiting a hospital for a subordinate. Not any subordinate though, he reminded himself.

After making himself a simple meal and a cup of black coffee with sugar, he pulled his boots onto his feet, and started back down the street, feeling much more himself than before, and glad to have the smell of hospital off of his skin, even though he was just going to be returning to regain the scent. Instead of continuing down the main road to the hospital, he turned left down a smaller road, stopping at a small family owned florist stand. He paid for two bouquets of daisies, and continued down the road until he stood at the decorative iron gate of the military cemetery in Central. After a moment of contemplation, he pushed the gate open and allowed it to latch behind him, and his steps automatically led him to where he intended to be.

He squatted down, brushing some stray blades of grass off of the marble stone, likely left over from the last time the lush lawn had been mowed. He untangled the blossoms of the bouquets, and laid a bouquet of bright white daisies with yellow centers in the grass below the engraved words. MAES HUGHES, he read, though he didn’t need to read the engraving to know exactly where his feet had brought him. After squatting for a minute, he plopped back onto his rear, crossing his legs to sit comfortably. He hadn’t visited the cemetery in far too long, he realized, and smiled at the laminated crayon drawing sitting propped against the stone, a blonde haired woman and a black haired man holding hands with a blonde haired young girl. He made a mental note to visit with Gracia soon, knowing just how proud Maes would have been at the masterpiece sitting on his grave in his memory. After a while of contemplation, he considered speaking to the stone like some other people do in cemeteries, but realized that there was likely no considerable difference in internal thought and empty verbalism in communicating to the dead, if that was even possible. Instead he sat and thought to himself for a while, and stood finally once the sky began to turn pale cotton candy shades of coral and brilliant shades of pink with the sunset. He gazed at the empty spaces beside the cool headstone, taking a moment to be glad that he was not going to be burying his other best friend any time soon. With a shy wave, he turned from the stone, and walked to the gate, leaving the peaceful grounds behind him. 

When he arrived back at the hospital, he carefully unwrapped the cellophane from the stems to place the daisies in the vase atop the telephone table beside her bed, and filled the vase with water from the bathroom faucet. Madame Christmas had taught him when he was young that flowers were necessary for every occasion, something that often came back to him when he was unfortunately drunk out of his mind. Good and necessary for funerals and graveyards and for sending your loved ones off into the afterworld, good for weddings and ceremonies and holidays and parties, good for visiting the sick, for showing your gratitude or symbolising friendship or love. Mustang realized, like the young girl at the floral stand had told him, that the brightly colored red and yellow gerbera daisies sitting in the vase at her bedside were especially good for expressing one’s love for a dear friend. Something Mustang now realizes more than ever that he should have done a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left, it should be out in the next few days! I'm so happy to have finished this chapter in record time, and I hope it lives up to everyone's expectations.


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